


We'll Whisper Until We Can Shout

by Lightlost713



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightlost713/pseuds/Lightlost713
Summary: A collision of two young and lonely souls for a night has unforeseen effects years later.





	1. Prologue: Ships in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Laurence and Tharkay briefly meet long before the events of His Majesty's Dragon.  
> I've probably gotten the dates/ages a bit wrong. I think it was said that Temeraire hatched in 1804 and Laurence was about 30 so I'm working off of that.

**Portsmouth, 1793**

The town was full of the normal chaos of a port city: families clutching close to one another either in farewell or long-awaited reunion, sailors and officers enjoying their few scant days on solid ground, hawkers screeching out the prices of their wares, and the less reputable of trades, the kind that dealt in warm bodies and not so innocent caresses for a night, were flourishing in the more shadowy portions of the harbor warren. Laurence did his best to ignore it all as he wove his way through the crowds, the late afternoon sun warming his back. His destination, a respectable inn some distance from the harbor itself, finally loomed into view. The tension between Laurence’s shoulders eased somewhat; here he could rest and catch a carriage to Nottinghamshire in the morning. There had been no family hansom waiting to see him home. Not that he had expected any; he knew Lord Allendale wouldn’t waste resources to fetch a son who, in his own words: “if he was capable of running off to sea and surviving the idiocies of the Navy, was capable of a few days travel over well-worn roads.”

So no, Laurence hadn’t expected much assistance in his return to Wollaton Hall. And yes, he was more than capable of managing the short trip homeward. Still, it would have been pleasant not to have wasted an extra day of his furlough on simply arranging his traveling affairs. Laurence brushed the thought aside as he entered the warmly lit building. The innkeeper was all that was accommodating, replying that there was a room available for the night and a coach due to arrive for Nottinghamshire just before noon tomorrow.  He stowed his small traveling chest in his room and made his way back downstairs, without changing from his officer’s coat, to plead a meal from the cooking staff.

The parlor was large and well kept, full of a bustling energy. Perhaps too bustling: there didn’t appear to be a spare seat among the tables nor at the bar. Laurence stood on the threshold pondering whether he ought not forgo a dinner and simply retire early, protesting stomach be damned, when a barmaid approached.

“Begging you’s pardon sir,” she smiled shyly at him, “But they’s a table near the corner that ‘as a free seat. Only one other sittin’ there.”

“I would not wish to intrude on another’s meal.”  Laurence protested even as his stomach growled.

The maid pulled a face. “Is only some Chinaman puttin’ on airs or such. And if ‘e don’t like it ‘e can eat somewhere else.”

Unsure of the polite way to defend the man’s right to stay for his dinner, Laurence let himself be led toward the back of the room. The individual in question was picking at his food. He was dressed like any other Englishman, traveling clothes rather fine and dark hair neatly trimmed and brushed into place. As Laurence approached the man looked up; he did indeed appear to be of Oriental descent: his skin just a shade lighter than teak wood and his eyes had that characteristic slant though perhaps not as pronounced as others Laurence had seen in his travels.

And those eyes. Those eyes held such sadness in their gaze, such a weariness that did not suit his age which, Laurence realized with a jolt, could be no older than his own. A small smile quickly hid the pain behind those dark eyes as the young man waved away Laurence’s apologies.

“No of course I have no objections,” he said, gesturing to the seat opposite himself. His accent was an impeccable upper-class lilt. “Why would I deny a repast from one who is undoubtedly serving this country so…admirably.”

That last statement held a hint of dryness to it as well as a pointed look at his uniform that Laurence chose to ignore; after all he was intruding upon the man’s dinner.

He held out his hand as he sat. “Lieutenant William Laurence of His Majesty’s Navy.”

“Tharkay.” The man’s hands were smooth; they weren’t the hands of the working class.   

The barmaid reappeared not a moment later with a steaming shepherd’s pie and a pint of ale. Laurence thanked her and took a long quaff of the surprisingly strong drink. Tharkay returned to his own meal, seemingly more interested in dissecting the contents of his pie than eating them. Laurence had been eager to tuck into his dinner but the gloom that he’d sensed clinging to the other man seemed to have spread to his side of the table. The social niceties that had been all but bred into him were screaming at Laurence to at least make an attempt at conversation. After all, he’d been the one to intrude, it was up to him to try to bridge some sort of rapport for the rest of the meal.

“Are you just arrived to Portsmouth or leaving, Mr. Tharkay?”

The man barely glanced up, his tone in answer, while pleasant, was dull. “Leaving. I’m making my way onto the Continent.”

“France perhaps?”

“As a start, but I plan on traveling further east.”

“To the Mediterranean? Or further?” Laurence wanted to kick himself; he sounded like he was interrogating the man. “I beg your pardon; you need not answer anything. I…am fond of traveling.”

Laurence really did want to kick himself then. _Fond of traveling_ , good Lord, he sounded like a dunce.

Tharkay looked up at him, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I suspect if you weren’t fond of it, the Navy would not be nearly so appealing.”

Laurence supposed he’d set himself up for that. He laughed at his own awkwardness, and allowed himself to relax enough to tuck in to his meal.

“Yes, I suppose it would be a damper on being so far from home. Not to mention it would make the scurvy, rats, storms, and run-ins with the more unscrupulous sea-farers all the more disagreeable.” He said after devouring a good fourth of the pie.

Another smirk. “Hence why I will be limiting my time spent afloat to only crossing the Channel. I like my chances better on land.”

“Sea travel is not nearly so bad.”

“Did you not just list a fair number of reasons to stay away from the water?”

Laurence shrugged. “Those simply become mere annoyances after a time.”

“Well, begging your pardon, Lieutenant Laurence, but some of us didn’t take to the sea like a seal. For some of us the only experience we have with the ocean are tales of sea monsters and pirates with daggers hidden in every possible fold of clothing, ready to slice their victims to ribbons at a moment’s notice.”

Laurence snorted at the image of a ragged pirate with blades bristling from every hem of his attire; it reminded him of a hedgehog.

“All those daggers? Not at all practical.” He shook his head.

“Have some experience with that have you?”

“Well, not daggers. But a knife stored in a boot is useful.” Laurence said between bites. “Though not for any sort of swashbuckling.”

Tharkay arched an eyebrow. “Truly?”

Laurence paused in his demolishing of the shepherd’s pie to lean down below the table. He felt underneath the edge of his right Hessian.

“I’m quite certain I hadn’t removed—ah, here it is.” He produced a small blade sheathed in leather and gently placed it on the table. “I’m afraid you won’t be fending off anything with that.”

Tharkay examined the knife, again a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth was threatening to spread into a smile. “Then what is the use for it?”

“Oh, a decent number of tasks,” Laurence shrugged. “You would be surprised how versatile a tool a knife can become when there’s nothing else around. I’ve mostly used that one for cutting through ropes and lines. Though I did once use it as a spearhead for fishing, to varying degrees of success.”

“Why would an officer of the British Navy need to spearfish?”

“Wrecking on a deserted island brings out a certain level of ingenuity in most men.”

A soft snort of disbelief escaped Tharkay. “You were not shipwrecked.”

“Well, it was more that we were scuttled against the nearby reef. It had taken several days to repair and shove off, and meanwhile the seawater had gotten in and ruined a good third of our food supply. So several of us were sent ashore to forage.” Laurence furrowed his brow in thought. “I was sixteen at the time. We were a few thousand miles off the west coast of India if I remember correctly.”

“Now I must hear more about this.”

Laurence blinked, surprised at the avid expression on his companion’s face. “I…that is, are you truly interested in hearing about the time I nearly lost a finger to a crab in my poor attempt at spearfishing?”

Another quirk of a half-smile. “Indeed I am. I’ll even add an incentive.”

“Incentive?”

Tharkay waved over a barmaid and ordered another round of ale.

“There,” he said once the drinks had been brought to the table. “I hope I have furnished you with enough liquor to make you loquacious.”

“Really, you need not waste your coin on me.” Laurence protested.

“Nonsense, I’m in need of some distraction tonight, and stories of shipwrecks and life on the high seas are just the thing for it. That is,” Tharkay paused, glancing from his cup, almost shyly, to Laurence. “If you are comfortable telling them.”

Laurence thought about that sad flicker in the other man’s eyes. He grabbed his cup and raised it in a half salute.

“Well, I cannot claim to be a bard, but if stories are what you are after, I can provide a few.”

Another half-smile quirked across Tharkay’s lips. “Very well then, you supply the tales, I’ll supply the ales.”

And so, it was that Laurence bore the brunt of the conversation. Not that he minded. Tharkay was an excellent audience, pausing Laurence only occasionally to ask a question. He seemed to soak up Laurence’s stories like a sponge, and when Tharkay chuckled at some anecdote, Laurence couldn’t help but feel a warm glow in his chest. That somewhat lopsided smile of his, incredibly charming in its lack of symmetry, garnered a grin to form on Laurence’s own lips, and he was pleased to see that sorrowful glimmer fade somewhat, those dark eyes could become surprisingly bright when attention was caught. He supposed it was partly flattery that made him feel so cordially towards this stranger; so few in Laurence’s social circle, outside the Navy itself, had any actual interest in the misadventures, or lack thereof, that occurred on his travels. His last story, an incident where a small sea serpent had somehow wormed its way up the ship and into the galley and gotten its head stuck in the carcass of a recently butchered chicken then proceeded to bash blindly about the decks like an incredibly clumsy and half-plucked chimera, had Tharkay pressing a fist against his mouth, shoulders shaking, to keep from outright laughing. 

“Good Lord,” he said, taking a swig of his ale. “You certainly do not lack for stories with your profession.”

Laurence shook his head. “In truth, I do not often get to tell them when I am home.”

“Why ever not?”

“Well, my father doesn’t care to hear them. He doesn’t care to hear of anything involving my profession or, unless I am dead or dishonoring him, me for that matter.” Laurence caught his slip only after he’d spoken the words. He hid his embarrassment in another swallow of alcohol before clearing his throat and continuing. “And my mother tends to fret over the more…ah, exciting incidents of my career.” Indeed, he’d once made the mistake of recounting how he’d nearly lost a hand in a skirmish with Spanish privateers and he all but had to sneak away from Lady Allendale’s worried watch to catch his next assignment.

“Hmm, more’s the pity for it. I’ve sat through many a dinner that could’ve used your tales to liven up their droll meal-time talk.”

Laurence wondered if the man was mocking him, but a quick glance showed the soft sincerity in his expression. He couldn’t help the pleasing warmth that tinged his cheeks at the compliment.

He rallied himself. “Ah, but surely you must have some stories of your own. I’ve been monopolizing the conversation. Please, if you care to share, that is.”

Tharkay snorted. “Hardly, unless you have a keen interest on the finer points of falconry, I’m afraid I have little to recommend myself to a dinner conversation. Unless you like tales of woe.”

“Tales of woe?”

“Yes,” A hard glint suddenly appeared in Tharkay’s eyes. “Well I say woe, more like frustration, slight humiliation and mild discomfort. The rapids of school life are hard to navigate on their own, add to it the disadvantage of having a Nepali mother and that river becomes nigh impossible to cross.”

Tharkay blinked, almost startled that he’d spoken. He looked away, cheeks flushing. “Ah, forgive the outburst. Perhaps I may be a little too far into my cups.”

Said cup was then lifted to his mouth and emptied. Had that been their fourth or fifth round?

Laurence rallied against his own discomfort over the outburst, aware of his own flush and the soft fuzziness in his mind. It was clear that an old wound had been inadvertently revealed, and, while he had no idea how to sooth the hurt, he could at least distract from it.

“Well I have no talent with birds. The most I can claim is to have coaxed a magpie to eat from my hand.” Laurence tentatively smiled at his companion. “I suspect taming a bird of prey is far more adventuresome.”

Tharkay did not smile per say but his shoulders relaxed somewhat and his expression appeared grateful. “Have we run through your stores of anecdotes that we need scrape up the handful of mine? Truly, you must like the dullness.”

“They cannot be so very…fowl.”

The response he received was a leveled stare. “At what state of ale consumption do you begin to use poorly placed puns?”

“I only attempt such feats while on shore. To do so while at sea would result in being thrown overboard.”

That earned him a small half-smile, and his mind seemed to go momentarily blank.

“Nepal, that is one of the mountainous regions near China, if I recall correctly.” Laurence said before he thought better of it. Had he not wanted to distract Tharkay from grimmer recollections?

Tharkay seemed more curious than offended at the statement. “Have you visited?”

“No, I’ve never been past India,” he paused then amended. “Yet. One never knows where they shall be posted next. And yourself?”

“When I was younger, yes. My father lived amongst my mother’s people for a time.”

“It must have been a sight, those mountains. I hear they tower over anything found in Europe.”

“There is no comparison.”

“Do you miss it, living there?” Laurence asked.

Tharkay smiled softly, his eyes appeared to be looking though Laurence at some distant range.

“Yes,” he said. “It was not an easy life, but it was…good. I look forward to seeing those peaks again.”

“Will you tell me about them? The mountains are as much a mystery to me as the sea is to you.”

Tharkay seemed to weigh Laurence’s words, perhaps searching for any insincerities. Then he nodded slowly, like he’d realized that telling a stranger, telling Laurence, about his lost world might be a source of security rather than weakness. After all, what more could two people bound to never cross paths with one another again possibly gain from learning each other’s soft points?

“Very well.”

Laurence listened as Tharkay drifted back through his past, describing life in the jagged ranges with a slight touch of childish wonder. As if the memories were being clung to by a little boy who’d loved to stare up into a sky framed by stony summits. Tharkay spoke of old monasteries that seemed to have grown out of the rock, of swift leopards that scaled the cliffs with a deadly grace, of the flowers that burst through the snow during spring in the lower regions, of the dragons that sometimes flew down to harass the scant flocks of livestock sturdy enough to survive in those heights. The words seemed to flood from the man, almost as if he was eager for someone else to see, to understand that life existed in such far-flung regions. That someone else in all the world knew that those mountains were real.

“It was almost like…” Tharkay paused in his reflection, appearing to struggle for the right words. “An embrace. As if the wind and the rock were wrapping around you, sheltering you from the wider world beyond the peaks. A somewhat dangerous embrace but still deeply loved.”

The smile that fought to form on Laurence’s lips was soft, and he caught himself leaning slightly forward to better catch his companion’s voice. Really, he shouldn’t find himself so enthralled by a few wistful phrases of a man soon to take up the roll of a wanderer. Yet Tharkay’s expression, the sorrow that seemed to gentle with some fond remembrance, was captivating. Laurence wondered if his own face portrayed something similar when he thought of the sea.

Clearing his throat, he raised his cup again. “I wish you good fortune and safe travels. And that your mountains prove to be as beautiful a place as you remember.”

Tharkay’s half-smile faded somewhat and his gaze turned contemplative. “I think…I am glad to have met you before I left England. In truth there isn’t much here that stirs a kind feeling to my heart, but knowing that someone like you resides here, at least part of the time, well, perhaps it gives me a shred of hope.”

The compliment, at least that was what Laurence thought it was, sat awkwardly upon his mind.

“I wish that your life here had been better suited to you.” He said.

“Better suited?”

Laurence grimaced; he could never put it to proper words. “I mean…I know we’ve had but a few hours to speak, and that I know little of your life here, which of course you need not explain as I am just a stranger, but, well, I think that—oh blast it all—if you were a close friend of mine from home, yours would the letters that I would look forward to receiving during the long months at sea. Or if you were a fellow officer, I’d be not only honored but…happy to serve beside you.”

He knew he was making some rather large intuitive leaps about the man’s character, but Laurence continued on, words slipping from his mouth before he had much time to comprehend them.

“What I mean is,” he sighed. “You would be missed…at least by me. And I wish that you had been surrounded by others who would miss you even more than I would.”

Tharkay only stared at him.

Groaning, Laurence dropped his head into his hands, vowing to not let another drop of alcohol past his lips for the remainder of the meal. “Forgive me. That was far too forward.”

“No,” Tharkay’s voice was soft. “I believe that was something I needed to hear, tonight of all nights. Thank you.”

“I am not entirely sure what I did. But you are welcome.”

“Although the idea of me joining the Navy has little appeal.”

Laurence snorted. “I suppose my earlier statements can be blamed for that.”

“Indeed,” Tharkay leaned forward to prop his chin against one hand. That inquisitive gaze deepened. “Well, I suppose there may be some incentive. You strutting about a deck would be a sight.”

“I told you, there’s very little swashbuckling involved.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Those words set something buzzing in the back of Laurence’s mind. He found himself staring at Tharkay’s lips, quirked in that lovely half-smile, as the man stared at him.

“I am afraid I’ve lost your meaning.” He mumbled, turning his gaze to the table.

“Have you? And I thought Navy men were more…worldly.”

Understanding hit Laurence like a cannonball.

Heat boiled out from somewhere in Laurence’s core to the top of his head and tips of his toes. He suddenly felt all the awkwardness of his nearly twenty years manifesting in his frame; a frame which, thanks to a last spout of growth, was still to him too tall and gangly. Laurence didn’t consider himself a vain man, but he was certain that he must look like a scarecrow in uniform. Tharkay by comparison was…quite fine. At least, last time Laurence had looked, which admittedly hadn’t been for some time as he was now making a studious examination of the woodwork of the table. He glanced up; yes, still quite fine.

“I-I am not…” he trailed off.

Not what? An invert? An Unnatural? A sailor fresh off the boat and desperate for some form of physical release? Laurence knew he liked women. He didn’t frequent houses of ill-repute common in port cities like some of his other fellow officers or sailors, but he admired the shapely figures when he chanced to walk past them on the street or dance with them at a ball. Also, there was his future with Edith Galman. Her soft glances and softer smiles had on more than one occasion set him to stammering.

And yet, sometimes there’d be a…feeling. He’d glimpse an individual from across a hall or a ship and he couldn’t glance away. Laurence had never really put much thought into those moments; he’d assumed it was due to lack of feminine encounters that led his mind to wander, a simple misplaced urge to be tamped down. But here he was back on land, and he couldn’t look away from the man sitting across from him.

Tharkay did look so very fine.  

Said fine man was still staring at him. Though the look was slowly fading to disappointment and wariness.

“I beg your pardon; if I have caused offense I—”

“No.” Laurence wasn’t sure how the word had left his lips, nor was he sure how his hand had slid across the table to brush against Tharkay’s. Just the slightest press of fingertips against fingertips.

Truly, he had no idea what had seized him; he just knew he didn’t want to be parted from his companion just yet.

Laurence struggled to find the right words. “I mean, I am not in the habit of that particular proclivity infamous in the Navy, but I...that is to say, while I have never, ah…I would not be offended if…”

“Lieutenant, it is fine. We need not—”

“I do not wish to part from your company just yet.” He managed to say, the words gushing out like a torrent of water from an upturned bucket. “And I do not mind, or I do not think I would mind, if…if we continued our acquaintance in a more…personal light.”

Laurence had trouble hearing the last of those words, his heart was thundering in his ears. And he was quite sure one could boil a cup of water by pressing it against his cheeks. Lord, was he really considering…engaging in such indecent acts? And with a stranger no less.  

A glance around the dining room showed that the majority of the other patrons had departed for the night, and the ones that remained were too inebriated to notice if a war band marched through. Laurence returned his gaze to their just barely touching hands. Perhaps he was too drunk for this, perhaps he wasn’t drunk enough. But under his haze came a bone-weary loneliness that he’d carried with him throughout his travels, and, if he was honest with himself, even while at home. It was normally something easily ignored, but here, sitting with someone who’d listened, who’d laughed, who’d been interested by and interesting to Laurence, he began to wonder if he could shed that lonely feeling, even if just for a night.

He breathed deeply, steadying his nerves. “I…do not know how to proceed.”

Tharkay stared at him, eyes narrowed but their expression was not suspicious. He lifted his hand just enough to rest his fingertips atop Laurence’s.

“We can continue this discussion in your room if you wish,” He said. “Lead, I will follow.”

Laurence, grateful for the direction, nearly tripped as he maneuvered away from the table, only just remembering to leave a handful of coins for his meal. He was halfway across the parlor when he glanced back to see Tharkay still hovering at the table, neatly sorting out his own dinner fee. The man flicked his hand at Laurence, a signal to continue on. Laurence made his way back to his room, certain that the whole inn was aware of what was about to occur. He all but jumped as a passing maid bid him a tired goodnight. Pausing at his door, he waited until he saw Tharkay round the corner into the hallway. Again, the man gestured for Laurence to keep going, while he himself walked right past Laurence and stopped at another door further along.

Once he was inside his room, away from the influence of alcohol and, well, Tharkay, Laurence’s doubts began to bubble to the surface. A maid must have entered while he was out; a pair of candles on a bedside table were lit as well as a fire in a small grate along the wall. They were the only sources of light other than the soft glow of the moon filtering in through the curtains of the small window. Even in the dimness, Laurence was quite sure his blush would be visible. He paced his small room, trying to unwind his knotted thoughts. Half his mind was screaming to lock the door, to not let the stranger in; the other half, warm with alcohol and praise, argued to see how events would unfold. His heart seemed to added its own voice to the conflict, though what its message was he couldn’t discern.

His turmoil was interrupted by the softest of taps at his door. He reached out to grasp the cold doorknob, and to him it felt like trying to turn a capstan on his own. Eventually he managed to open the door, and there was Tharkay, waiting on his darkened threshold like a spirit contemplating crossing the veil. He arched an eyebrow at Laurence. Even as the thought of firmly shutting the door in the man’s face flitted across his mind, Laurence found himself standing aside to let him enter.  Tharkay said not a word as Laurence shut and locked the door behind him; the young officer wondered if the man was waiting for him to act first or if he was simply as tongue-tied as he was.

Laurence cleared his throat. “I would offer you a drink, but I believe we’ve done enough of that for this evening.”

“You need not fret over hospitality.” Tharkay half-smirked at him through the dim light.

“Well I am not entirely sure what I am to fret over, in these circumstances.”

“Again, if you have doubts…”

“I have doubts,” Laurence stepped forward, wondering when the floor had begun the tell-tale gentle sway of a ship in calm waters. “But if a seaman were to falter with every doubt that appeared before him, we would never have sailed out of sight of our shores.”

“Do you take courage in Naval analogies?” Tharkay asked, his tone half mocking, half genuinely curious.

“In a general sense, sometimes. Though I’ve never applied it to such…encounters.”

Tharkay stepped forward and held out his hand. Laurence stared at it for a moment before clasping it in his own. They intertwined their fingers, and he wondered if the other man was bothered by the feel of calluses against his smoother skin.

“We need do no more than touch, if you wish.” Tharkay said, looking steadily into Laurence’s eyes. “And even that is up for debate if you dislike it.”

Laurence rubbed his thumb across the back of his companion’s hand. “And if I do feel the need to debate it?”

“Well then I suppose I must continue our earlier suggestion for dinner conversation on my part and bore you with stories of bird care and dinner parties. Then we might actually need that drink to see us through that void.”

It was that comment that allowed Laurence to step over the precipice.

Their hands were still intertwined when Laurence, trembling from head to foot, leaned toward Tharkay. The other man met him halfway and their lips briefly brushed together. Then again. And again. Laurence felt a tongue gently drag across his lower lip as they parted. He glanced up to see Tharkay staring at him, a question in his eyes. Laurence nodded and when they kissed again, he let his tongue dart out to taste his companion’s lips. He gasped softly when instead Tharkay opened his mouth and coaxed Laurence inside. Like a hound on a fox’s scent he followed, moaning at the warmth and taste. This was nothing like the chaste kisses on cheek or hand that he’d exchanged with Edith. This was a burning, melting thing that glowed forge-bright within his chest.

Tharkay’s free hand had wound its way through Laurence’s hair, drawing him in closer. Laurence shudder slightly at the contact. His own hand was fisted in Tharkay’s coat. They parted to draw breath, and as Laurence softly gasped, Tharkay leaned in to wetly kiss along his jaw.

“Oh!” Laurence broke their hand-hold to wrap his arm around Tharkay’s back, crushing their bodies together.

He mimicked the kisses along Tharkay’s jaw. The man merely hummed as he did so, but when Laurence pressed a rather rough kiss just below his ear, the humming turned into a groan. The hand in his hair tightened then tugged him back to another heated meeting of lips. They remained so, kissing and clutching, until Laurence felt the press of Tharkay’s thigh move to—

“Mmph!” Laurence thrusted his hips against the pressure, startling himself.

Tharkay paused. “Should I stop?”

Some small, frightened part of Laurence, the part that had the laws of propriety and family reputation hammered into it from an early age, cried out to stop, to send this stranger far away. But it all felt too good, the kisses and that brief touch. That little voice in his mind was drowned out by the longing to be close, so very close, to another person.

Laurence shook his head. “No, please, do not stop.”

And to show his resolve, he shouldered off his coat, letting it hit the floor with only a slight pang at not properly hanging it up. Tharkay followed suit, tugging off his cravat as well. Laurence’s mouth watered at the sight of the exposed neck. He leaned forward to nuzzle and lick at the hollow of Tharkay’s throat. The other man chuckled, and Laurence felt a tug around his neck as his own cravat was disposed of. Not to be outdone, he set about divesting Tharkay of his waistcoat.

_Blast, why are there so many buttons?_ Laurence’s shaking hands made slow work on the garment.

Tharkay seemed to be faring better; he had Laurence’s own waistcoat unbuttoned and shirt untucked, fingers stroking the skin beneath, before Laurence finally managed to unfasted his. They drew apart to pull off the offending articles of clothing and clashed back together with no small amount of force. Laurence thumbed a dusky nipple and was rewarded with a pair of hands clawing at his back, crushing their bodies together and adding a sweet pressure to his groin. His answering moan was cut off by Tharkay’s hot mouth; the man seemed determined to muffle any sound Laurence made with his tongue and lips.

He couldn’t recall precisely when they’d sunk to the floor amidst their discarded garments, nor when he lost boots and stockings. His breeches he did remember divesting; Tharkay had again paused, panting softly.

“Certain?” he whispered against Laurence’s lips.

Laurence could only reply by pulling Tharkay on top of him and begin tugging at his own set of trousers. Granted their new position made the removal a bit awkward, but when they had finally shed the last of their clothes, Laurence took a moment to gaze upon the man straddling him. Hair mussed, lips swollen, skin flushed from his cheeks to his…

He didn’t think as he took hold of Tharkay’s member and gently stroked. He didn’t think when the man all but fell on him in response, practically biting at Laurence’s lips. He didn’t think when Tharkay in turn wrapped his hand around Laurence’s prick, and their hands then entwined to create a cage of flesh to thrust into.

He only felt.

 He only felt as their bodies moved together, desperately chasing a release. He only felt as Tharkay softly panted words against his ear in a language he couldn’t understand. And he only felt as that blinding brink was reached, and their cries of pleasure were muffled against each other’s skin.

They lay gasping for a few moments before Tharkay rolled off Laurence and onto his side. He smirked at the sticky mess smeared on their stomachs.

“Well that was certainly a more pleasant send off than I had planned.” He reached over to his fallen coat and produced a handkerchief. He handed it to Laurence.

A sudden worry gripped Laurence, a rather absurd one at that, that the sadness that had been dispelled from Tharkay’s eyes would soon make its return. He didn’t want to see that; he wanted to keep that desolation at bay for as long as he was able. He reached out to stroke his thumb against Tharkay’s hip.

“It…it need not be over just yet.” He found himself saying.

Tharkay arched an eyebrow. “Eager for another?”

“Eager to see you happy.”

The words seemed to have slipped from his mouth of their own accord. Tharkay only stared at him, his faint mocking look gone. Laurence could feel mortification heating his cheeks.

“That—that is if…if you…”

“No, no,” Tharkay leaned over to kiss him, that inscrutable expression gone. “I’m not at all opposed to repeat performances. If you are amenable to it, of course.”

Now it was Laurence’s turn to roll atop his companion. He deepened the kiss as the rest of his body quickly began to respond to the stimulus.

“Of course.”

Their youth lent itself to the rest of the night’s proceedings. They had become a single entity, one of stroking hands and grinding hips and lips that fused together over and over again. Laurence didn’t remember falling asleep, sated and warm, with his arms wrapped tightly around Tharkay’s body, nor did he remember being shuffled into his bed in the early hours. But he awoke the next morning beneath starched sheets, his body relatively clean if a little lethargic and his clothes still strewn about the floor.

Just his clothes.  

Panic and bile bubbled up from Laurence’s stomach. Oh god, what had he done? He had…he had…and with…and what if the inn staff discovered what had occurred in this room? On a ship at least there was an unspoken code, founded on the necessity of so long spent in grouped isolation, that one should turn a blind eye to such interludes. But on shore there was no such veil of discretion. He rested his head against his knees, breathing deeply. Once he was sure that he wasn’t going to vomit, he crawled out of bed and took stock. All garments accounted for, merely wrinkled. His coinage still in his coat pocket. Following closely on the heels of that observation was the sudden thought that his small chest may have been rifled through. No, everything was in its proper, compact place when he checked.

Laurence stood amidst his mess, the one in his room and the one in his mind, and slowly worked out the quandary before him. No Tharkay, but no figure of authority come to drag Laurence away for immoral acts. No note of goodbye, but no glaring proof of what the pair of them had been getting up to last night. It appeared that Tharkay merely wished to leave Laurence with pleasant memories, and the subsequent moral dilemmas, of their short time together.

A small part of Laurence was rather pricked not to have been given a farewell. It seemed rather ungentlemanlike to merely leave one’s…partner without some sort of acknowledgement. But then perhaps it was the more gentlemanly action to ensure that both parties escaped their encounter with as little notice from the outside world as possible. Still his thoughts kept circling back to the absent goodbye, more so than on his qualms about taking another man to bed, or in his case the floor. On that point at least he made himself a compromise: it was merely a moment of weakness brought on by over a year away from home and far from the interactions of the well-bred, feminine kind. And if some of his fellow officers engaged in such practices regularly and were still counted as men of excellent honor and courage then surely Laurence, with his one mistake, could still hold his head high amongst his peers.

Indeed, by the time he’d made himself presentable and marched downstairs for breakfast, he most certainly did not look for Tharkay though several general glances about the inn showed the man was absent, Laurence had carefully filed away the night’s events as a simple experience in growing up in the Navy, a chance to gain insight into oneself. Though what sort of insight Laurence wasn’t entirely sure. But he now he was ready to move on, ready to see his family, and certainly ready to see Edith Galman.

Laurence all but bounded into the coach when it arrived. He spared not a glance back at the inn, and he certainly did not spare a thought to its occupants who may or may not actually be occupying said inn. Yet as the coach trundled its way out of Portsmouth, Laurence’s mind couldn’t help returning to the look in those dark eyes. He wondered if that sorrow he’d seen glimmering within their depths would ever ease. Perhaps the mountains of Tharkay’s memories would help heal that hurt.

He did look back when the coach left the confines of the city, and, with one long stare at the speck of sails in the harbor, Laurence sent a wish that his stranger would find peace upon the world’s roads.

 

**Canton, 1805**

The green silk jacket was far too ostentatious, and while the fit of it was rather fine on his figure, the attention it drew from his fellow dinner companions made Laurence all the more determined to have his aviator’s coat mended. Even if he had to triple the payment to the local tailor. He glanced sideways to Granby who shot him a commiserating grin and lifted his arm to show the nearly two inches of skin visible from the too short sleeves of his borrowed uniform. At least Laurence wasn’t the only one two steps away from a disreputable appearance tonight. He turned back to pick at his pudding when a cacophony of half-shouted Chinese and inhuman screeches echoed from the hall.

 Before Laurence could rise from his seat, the door to the dining room opened and a man with a large eagle perched on his arm entered. The man’s clothes were covered in the dust and dirt of long travel and his face was rough with stubble. And yet something pricked at the back of Laurence’s mind. Some part of him awoke in recognition.

The man glanced around the room before stating in a cultured voice that warred with his apparel and physical features:

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, for interrupting your dinner; my errand cannot wait. Is Captain William Laurence here?” 

A shiver ran its way along Laurence’s spine as he stood. No, surely it couldn’t be him; not the young man from the inn all those years ago. Laurence tried to reckon his memories of the well-dressed, well-mannered youth he’d met to the rough-edged individual before him. As he took the oilskin packet from the messenger, Laurence looked into his eyes. The dark orbs were hardened with cynicism and wariness, but underneath them was still just the barest glimmer of sorrow.

And now they sparked with recognition.

As if to slice through the last of Laurence’s doubts, his host called: “Pray go and give Mr. Tharkay some refreshment.”  


	2. Chapter 1.  Scenes from Abroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Temeraire and crew muddle their way through two continents, Laurence muddles his way through his thoughts about their guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt not to turn this into a glorified summary of Black Powder War, I tried to section off portions of the story: basically string together little vignettes of their time traveling and hope that they form a cohesive storyline. Fingers crossed

It seemed that a small swarm of wasps had settled in Laurence’s stomach, as he stared up at what could barely pass for a house. The structure only appeared to maintain its form by the assistance of the buildings on either side of it, and from his position on the doorstep, he could see several broken slates along the roof that would let in a small deluge when the rains came. The entire neighborhood seemed to ooze an oily sheen, giving the stones of the road a sickly shine and adding a greasy layer to the leaves of whatever plant was hardy, or foolish, enough to grow there.

“Are you well, Laurence?” Granby peered over at him; his hand was raised to knock as Laurence had been standing in front of the door for a good two minutes without any attempt at movement.

No, he was most certainly not well. He should not be standing before this house. He should be on the _Allegiance_ , making his way back to England with Temeraire, far from any messengers who bring cryptic orders as well as a flood of memories with them. But they needed to travel to Istanbul, and they needed to arrive there with as little bodily harm to Temeraire, the crew and themselves as possible. And so, they needed a guide. And as it stood, there was only one option currently available to them.

The swarm in his stomach had set to buzzing again. Laurence nodded at Granby’s quizzical look and gestured for him to proceed; he feared that opening his mouth would set the buzzing, or more likely the contents of his last meal, free. The thud of knuckles against wood sounded far too loud to Laurence’s ears, and he found himself holding his breath as the door swung open. It escaped in a quiet huff as an unfamiliar Chinese man peered suspiciously out at them.

Laurence and Granby perhaps knew twenty words of Chinese between them, but simply inquiring after Tharkay by name had the home owner nodding and gesturing them inside. The man led them up a rather noisy set of stairs to a second floor flat. Clenching his hands, Laurence entered the room. Tharkay was sat on the floor, a cup of tea and a plate or raw meat before him and the eagle perched on his arm. He looked up at the sound of Laurence’s entrance, and their gazes caught and held.  Laurence wasn’t sure how long they might have stood there, staring, if it weren’t for his First Lieutenant.

Granby stepped around Laurence and held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Tharkay is it? Lieutenant John Granby and Captain William Laurence of His Majesty’s Aerial Corps.”

“Not the Navy?”

Laurence stiffened at the question; Tharkay had glanced briefly toward Granby when the other man had spoken but his gaze returned to Laurence, almost challengingly.

“No,” Granby frowned. “I would think the large dragon on shore would safely rule out the Navy.”

“Hmm,” Tharkay smirked. It was a hard quirk of the lips; coupled with the glint in his eyes, it gave the impression of a gauntlet being tossed. Though what the test was, Laurence couldn’t be certain.

Granby continued; his tone somewhat bemused. “We’re terribly sorry to intrude, Sir George Staunton gave us your direction, but we were hoping to inquire of your…availability to lead a traveling party to Istanbul.”

Again, Tharkay looked them both over, his expression calculating.

“You were the gentlemen at Staunton’s dinner the other evening.” He said, turning to Laurence. “The Captain to whom the letter was addressed.”

Laurence frowned; there could be no doubt that Tharkay knew him, yet he appeared willing to be blind to their short, shared past. It might be safer for both their reputations, recognizing an association would lead to questions, questions that, if answered with even a hint of the actual truth, could lead to misfortune for them both. But Tharkay didn’t look as if he was eager to lie by omission, in fact he almost seemed to be sneering up at Laurence, aggression bright in his dark gaze.

And then suddenly, the pieces snapped together. Tharkay expected Laurence to deny any such connection between them, to take the proffered lie of new acquaintance but at the cost of the man’s scorn. Well, while Laurence was not about to own up to certain _illegal_ happenings that had occurred during their brief interlude, and he was certain Tharkay did not wish for them to be brought to light either, he could damn well acknowledge their thin connection.

“It has been some time, but I believe I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance back in ninety-three, Mr. Tharkay.” Laurence sat down across from man and eagle, keeping as much dignity as the movement would allow. “In Portsmouth.”

There, he’d met the man’s dare, though what the outcome would be, he hadn’t the foggiest idea. Tharkay, for his part, arched an eyebrow; that being the only change in expression other than a slight lessening of tension around his eyes, the challenge turning to scrutiny.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “though the young man I met had been a Lieutenant in the Navy.”

“A recent happenstance made it necessary for my changing of careers. I find I do not regret the alteration in circumstance.”

A soft clearing of throat drew Laurence’s attention back to Granby.

“You two have met before?”

There was a breath of silence before Tharkay spoke. “Yes, I wasn’t entirely sure, a decade can do much to change an appearance, but Captain Laurence and I have met briefly before now.” 

“Though,” Laurence added. “I doubt it is a strong enough acquaintance to call upon for a favor.”

“Perhaps not. But it is enough for to me to hear your request.”

Granby slowly lowered himself to sit beside Laurence, glancing between him and Tharkay. For his part, Tharkay quickly shifted to professional interest once they had revealed their notion of traveling overland to Istanbul. His questions were acute: the maximum weight Temeraire could bare over an extended length of time, the resources currently available to them, any prior knowledge of the flora and fauna of the regions they would be traversing and so on. It seemed that the man’s prior standoffishness had almost disappeared entirely. In fact, the only sneer he gave during the interview was directed solely at their collection of mismatched maps of area. Laurence soon found himself not quite relaxing, but his tension lessened somewhat, aided by the other man’s almost clinical approach to charting out their course. His mind only stumbled once; he had been given one of Tharkay’s journals about the Taklamakan to peruse and the sight of the detailed notes in neat, precise handwriting, so different from the sloppy chicken-scratch Laurence was used to seeing from his fellow aviators,  suddenly had him flashing back to the young man in fine clothing sitting at a roughhewn wooden table.

Laurence snapped the notebook shut and passed it along to Granby. He glanced up to see Tharkay shutting his eagle in its cage. Laurence’s gaze followed the man’s hands as he latched the enclosure; they were scarred hands, rough now with calluses. They were so very changed from the hands he’d held over a decade ago. A sharp shake of the head scattered that thought from Laurence’s mind. He should not think on that; there was no point in reliving the follies of youth, particularly when it might place their mission, not to mention Laurence’s as well as Tharkay’s reputations and lives, at stake.

Now that they had some idea of what they were to face, there was only the task of convincing Tharkay to join them.

“I have little inclination to return to Istanbul at present.” He said, his gaze fixed on his eagle. 

“You will be well compensated, of course.” Laurence wondered if perhaps that was wrong to state outright. Would Tharkay take offense from being offered money by Laurence? The look that Tharkay shot him had heat rushing up the back of his neck as Laurence realized that “compensated” might have more weight to it than it normally would. “Pay. We are willing to pay your rates for leading such an expedition.”

“Not to mention you would be doing a great service to your country.” Granby added.

Laurence thought that would be even less of an incentive than a wage for this particular individual. Tharkay stared at their charts for a moment then looked up at Laurence.

“Your dragon, is it true it is one of the Celestials?” he asked.

Laurence nodded. “Yes, Temeraire is one of their kin.”

Tharkay leaned his chin on his palm and tilted his head. “And how did an officer of the British Navy manage that?”

“As I said: happenstance. Perhaps you would prefer to hear the story from Temeraire himself.”

Tharkay stared at him a moment longer before nodding. “Very well, consider me intrigued. I cannot promise an easy journey, but I can promise to see you to Istanbul.”  

“Will you be ready to leave in a day or two?” Granby asked. “Now that we have our heading, there is little to slow our departure save preparing supplies.”

Tharkay gestured to the nearly barren room. “I doubt it will take me long to pack.”

Granby stood to leave, but Laurence leaned forward, hand outstretched. He hadn’t the slightest idea where their paths would lead them, if anywhere at all, and frankly part of him was terrified, of their shared past or their oncoming shared future he couldn’t be sure. But Will Laurence had survived one upheaval of his life already; this would be just one more. So he would bear through it as he had always done, feet steady beneath him and head held high.

A small part of his mind chimed in that, from previous experience, Tharkay’s presence generally set Laurence’s feet to stumbling. Laurence firmly told that voice to be silent.

“Thank you, Mr. Tharkay, for agreeing to our venture. And I am glad to see you…” Laurence paused, struggling to find the right word. _Well_ would not work. Sitting here, in a house only marginally better than a hovel, the word well would be an insult. _Happy_ certainly wouldn’t do either. Images of the young man in a well-tailored jacket that hid soft skin beneath it kept squirming their way into his mind. The most honest answer he could give would be _I am glad to see you survived_ , but that seemed as unutterable as the first two options. “I am glad to see you.”

Tharkay said nothing, merely shook Laurence’s hand briefly, rose and saw him and Granby out. They stood on the stoop a moment before turning and walking back along the slick street. From the corner of his eye, Laurence could see Granby fidgeting, opening his mouth as if to speak before closing it again.

Laurence sighed. “Is there something you wish to ask, Lieutenant?”

“Ah, no, not really. I’m just pleased that we managed to find someone willing to drag our sorry selves over half a continent. Though no doubt Captain Riley will still put up a fight about the whole scheme. Next he’ll say we don’t know that Tharkay won’t lead us to Siberia instead. Quite frankly, I’d sooner put my faith in a man who looks like he scrambles through the wilderness for a living than what passes for ship repairmen in this port. But…” Granby paused in his rambling to again shoot a sideways look at Laurence. Still, the man wasn’t one to pull his words, and a moment later he muddled his way to the true point of his interest. “You really know Tharkay?”

“I would not say _know_. I met him only once; we shared a meal and a conversation.” And a bed. Actually, they had never made it to the bed, the floor had done well enough at the time. Laurence bit the inside of his cheek to be certain those words were never uttered. “I liked him; he was engaging, clever. He was willing to listen to far too many stories about life at sea. Which is more than I can say for many of my family’s acquaintances.”

He had also been bearing a great sadness, Laurence remembered. It wasn’t so hard to connect that air of resignation from the past to the wary cynicism of the present. The only mystery that remained was the happenings that had occurred during the interim that caused the hardening of Tharkay’s heart.

“But he’s not entirely the same man you had met all those years ago.” Granby persisted. Laurence could guess that he was thinking about the aloof individual they’d just left.

“Time and experience have altered him no doubt, as they alter us all. But I believe we can trust him to guide us to Istanbul.”

Granby snorted. “Well, he’s sure to get on with the crew. Likes to keep an air of mystery and distance about him, that one.”

***

Said air of mystery and distance had little effect on an extremely inquisitive, twenty-ton dragon. From his position by the forge, Laurence watched as Temeraire nearly bowled the man over when he arrived on their beach.

“What are Uygurs?” Temeraire asked, his head lowered close to the ground, the better to inspect the newcomer.

“Tribesmen.” Tharkay seemed to be examining the dragon almost as much as the dragon was studying him. “So, you are a Celestial. What odd company you keep, for such a vaunted breed. I thought your kind kept to the imperial family.”

“Laurence is a member of the imperial family. Well, he is now.”

Tharkay arched an eyebrow. “A fine addition to their lineage no doubt.”

“I should think so; I have not found anyone finer than my Laurence. No one near so brave, or honorable, or kind.” Temeraire puffed up a bit at this, and Laurence felt warmth flood his cheeks.

“If it pleases you, I should like to judge that for myself.” Tharkay tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over Temeraire’s magnificent ruff and large blue eyes, before slowly raising his hand. “May I? It is considered good luck to touch a Celestial after all. And while I do not harbor the same superstitions as the locals, it does not hurt to cover all certainties.”

Temeraire regarded him a moment longer before pressing the tip of his snout against Tharkay’s palm. The dragon gave a pleased rumble as Tharkay scratched along his muzzle. And, while he couldn’t be sure from the distance between them, Laurence thought he saw the briefest upturn at the corner of the other man’s mouth. However, his study of the pair was soon interrupted by Fellows asking for his opinion on the state of the crew’s carabiners. The bustle of preparations soon swept Laurence along, and he lost track of the other man until they were about to board. The crew were all in place, gear stored and harness checked; Laurence stood at Temeraire’s feet, searching for any last-minute errors. Tharkay was beside him, holding the eagle in its cage.

“All lies well.” Temeraire said, reaching towards them.

Laurence scrambled into the dragon’s palm with ease and waved Tharkay on. “Here, mind his talons.”

“Should I not climb aboard like the rest of the crew?” Tharkay asked.

“You’d have a time of it with that cage. Besides it’s common practice that any guest of the captain’s is granted the same lift. And Temeraire does not mind. Do you, my dear?”

“Not at all.” Temeraire peered down at the eagle. “Though won’t your bird be more comfortable flying?”

“I do not know of any feathered creature that can keep pace with a dragon.” Tharkay said as he carefully climbed between Temeraire’s claws. “She will do better if I let her fly while you rest.”

Temeraire lifted them up onto his shoulder. Laurence assisted Tharkay in strapping into the harness before clipping himself on. He turned back to see his crew in position, their faces showing that certain eagerness just before a flight. Laurence spared one last look around the city and out into the harbor where the impaired _Allegiance_ bobbed peacefully.

“Very well,” He nodded. “Temeraire, when you are ready.”

The words had barely passed his lips when the great dragon leapt into the air, wings snapping out in a graceful dark fan. Temeraire circled the city as he gained height. A roar of cannon fire echoed from the harbor: the _Allegiance_ bidding them farewell. Temeraire’s answering roar echoed even further, and with one last circle above the ever-shrinking town, they were off. An ache that had settled between his shoulders eased as Laurence felt the wind whip past him. Whatever might come of his past or whatever might happen to them in the future, at least they were in the air once again.

***

Several days into the journey saw them resting on the outskirts of a small village. For the sake of Laurence’s sanity, and to avoid putting on the ridiculous set of robes gifted to him, the traveling party had begun avoiding any larger settlements. The groups of locals who came to see Temeraire were much smaller in number when they stuck to the countryside and, unlike the denizens of larger urban centers, were less prone to use firecrackers to show their joy at seeing a Celestial.

The camp was just beginning to settle in for the night. Laurence had finished checking over the runners’ lessons in geometry, if he could make anything of their handwriting, penmanship would be the next vault to hurdle, and he was meandering his way between the tents. Several of the men from the gun crew were in the midst of some newly invented card game that involved the regular intake of alcohol whenever one lost a round; there were not many winners. Keynes was taking stock of medical supplies in his usual cantankerous way. The newly hired cooks were roasting an ox with stoic concentration. Granby looked up and nodded at Laurence from where he sat debating boarding techniques with Ferris. All in all, it was looking to be a peaceful night.

Eventually, Laurence made his way to Temeraire. The dragon was faced away, his attention on something just to the side of him. Laurence was just about to walk around Temeraire’s foreleg when he heard Tharkay’s voice speaking in Chinese. Clambering to perch on the scaly limb, Laurence saw the man sitting on the ground beside Temeraire, eagle perched on his shoulder, and a lengthy scroll unwound in his hands. He stopped his recitation when he glimpsed the captain.

“Ah Laurence, you are just in time; Tharkay was kind enough to read some of the poetry Mother had given me.” Temeraire’s ruff was settled gently against his neck, a sure sign of the dragon’s tranquility. “Roland still struggles with many of the characters.”

“She still has better mastery of the language than I.”

“One would think knowing the Chinese language would be a prerequisite for becoming a companion to a Chinese dragon.” Tharkay pointed out. His expression was one of dry serenity, only his eyes showed his scrutiny.

Laurence felt a twitch begin in the corner of his right eye. “It is true that I know only a handful of words in that language. The same can be said for my poor grasp of French and German. Only my Latin is up to snuff and that is in large part thanks to Temeraire.”

“And do you intend to only keep to your handful of words?” Tharkay asked.

“I intend to learn as I go or as the situation requires. I’ve found that practical application is a better teacher than simple schoolroom memorization.”

“That does sound a bit dull.” Temeraire added. “One can learn so much more about a language by simply having a conversation.”

“Indeed.” Tharkay smirked. “One can learn much from simple conversations.”

The twitch in Laurence’s eye worsened. “And what, may I ask, have you learned so far?”

“That Temeraire is quite the bibliophile. I have not had such scholarly dialogue in some time.”

“It is nice to read, or rather to have Laurence read to me.” Temeraire said, a bit defensively.

“Of course, I am not one to discourage a love of literature.” Tharkay soothed. “Although, if I may be blunt, your captain never seemed much of the bookish type, at least when we’d first met.”

“We none of us are the exact same people we were a decade ago.” Laurence pointed out. He couldn’t help but feel that the man had gotten in a shot with his words.

“True, but I do have one question for you that’s been irking me for some time since our abrupt reunion.” Tharkay looked up from roll of poetry, that smirk evident on his lips. Laurence felt dread sink in his stomach like a lead weight. “Since last we met, have you been in any more shipwrecks?”

Laurence blinked. “Pardon?”

“Shipwrecks. Stranded on a deserted island. Or marooned perhaps.”

“Twice.” Laurence sighed, compared to any other type of inquiry the man could have asked this was benign, though Laurence couldn’t help but wonder if he was still trying to get in a jab. “I have twice been forced to face…less than favorable circumstances sans a ship, since last we met.”

“Is that an official Naval term for the log books? ‘Less than favorable circumstances sans a ship’ seems a bit lengthy.”

“They weren’t all shipwrecks! Technically.”

“I’m sure Laurence didn’t mean to make a habit of it.” Temeraire chimed in.

Laurence could feel his cheeks reddening. “Thank you, my dear. I would also like to point out that none of the incidents happened during my captaincy.”

“Still, seems like a bit of a streak of bad luck.” Tharkay’s smirk softened into something closer to that half-smile of distant memory.

“I thought you were not superstitious.”

“Superstitious, no. Realistic, yes. It would make sense not to sail with a man who’s been shipwrecked at least three times in his career.”

“Would not the experience of surviving wrecks be an asset should the situation occur?” Laurence demanded.

Still grinning, Tharkay asked. “Temeraire, is it better to simply avoid the risk of shipwreck altogether?”

“Naturally,” the dragon replied, however upon seeing the betrayed look that crossed Laurence’s expression he added. “but I would like to note that I have sailed with Laurence on several occasions, and he has proven to be a most competent seaman.”

“Still, probably better that sailing is no longer his vocation.” Tharkay tilted his head to the side. “Though perhaps you should be worried that he might wreck you upon some distant island.”

“I would think a dragon has a bit more say in where they land than a ship does.” Laurence pointed out.

Temeraire nodded. “And as if I would ever wind up on a deserted island. It sounds frightfully boring.”

A soft huff of a laugh escaped Tharkay. “Indeed. Is that a common challenge one faces while lost at sea, Captain, battling ennui?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Laurence sighed, though he was startled to find the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “If you are planning the attempt, Mr. Tharkay, I would suggest you bring along a good book.”

 “Well, considering Temeraire’s stock of literature and poetry, I would say you two are well prepared should that event ever occur.”

Laurence just managed to not roll his eyes. “Yes, we will persevere somehow. Though, if I recall correctly, you once said you’d not risk more sea travel than the Channel crossing. I suppose that has remained true.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say; the hint of the smile on Tharkay’s lips faded away as the calm cynicism took over the man’s features, the scrutiny in his eyes returning.

“Indeed, and I can confidently say I’ve avoided such unpleasantries as being stranded in the middle of the ocean.” He carefully rolled up the scroll and stood, gently placing the parchment on Temeraire’s foreleg. “Now if you will excuse me, I need to see to this one’s dinner.” He gestured to the eagle before striding away.

 ***

It was over a week before Tharkay approached Laurence again. He had kept his interactions between himself and Laurence restricted to the journey ahead, advising on directions only when necessary. They were camped near Tianshui, in enormous caves of red rock. Laurence had wandered some distance from the crew, admiring the massive Buddhas carved from the stone of the cavern. So engrossed was he in his study of the figures that he started slightly when Tharkay appeared at his shoulder. He was likewise looking up at the statues, the shadows of the cave sharpening the lines and angles of his face.

“They are magnificent.” Laurence opined in hushed tones. The cavern had the same feeling of silent solemnity to it as any good stone church of England.

“Thinking of converting?”

“Not in this lifetime. But I do not need to be well versed in the beliefs that these figures represent to appreciate the faith that went in to making them.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Tharkay glance towards him. “The lack of condescension in that statement is surprising, coming from an Englishman.”

Laurence prickled but did not rise to the bait. “I do not claim to be an expert in these sorts of studies; from my view these statues are simply beautiful, if perhaps a little intimidating.”

He turned from the reclining effigies to find Tharkay scrutinizing him. His eyes were narrowed and the corner of his mouth was twisted downward. It was almost as if he were trying to pull answers from Laurence’s skull.

“I have little ground to stand upon if you mean to begin a discussion on faith or philosophy. Am I needed at the camp?” He asked.

Tharkay kept up his inspection for a moment before shrugging. “Lieutenant Granby wishes to discuss alternative routes to Wuwei through the mountains.”

Laurence nodded and turned back towards Temeraire. He could feel Tharkay’s near silent presence behind him. He wondered what the purpose was of that last interaction.  

***

The sand dunes of the Taklamakan rose and fell beneath them like ocean swells in a tempest, only these waves were moved by the wind and not the whim of the sea. The desert dawn dyed the landscape in deceptively soft pinks and oranges, and Temeraire rose above it all, circling their camp as he gained height. The eagle swooped about them; she had grown used to her larger flying companion. Laurence watched her dive then pull upwards in a graceful arc. She circled about Temeraire’s head; the dragon paid her little mind.

“There,” from his spot next to Laurence, Tharkay pointed out over the horizon. “the next few days’ travel we should begin to bear northward.”

“And for water?”

“There are a few old wells along the route, but I would not trust them to be full. Much of the old silk road is rapidly deteriorating.”  He then retreated into a ruminative silence.

Tharkay was often like this when they took him up to scout ahead. He would do his best to keep quiet, keeping his answers as short as politeness would allow. At least, towards Laurence, he acted thus. Temeraire could usually coax a few more words from the man with his voracious curiosity about the world around him. Temeraire was doing just that now, quizzing Tharkay about life in the desert while Laurence looked on.

He had begun to notice a pattern, if one could call it that, about Tharkay. The man would keep away from Laurence for several days at a time, keeping any dialogue between them strictly professional, then he would inevitably wind his way back into conversation with the captain, this was usually brought on by being dragged into one of Temeraire’s talks about the endless subjects the dragon was fascinated about, where he would taunt Laurence about one subject or another. They would verbally circle one another, their exchanges morphing into something more like the awkward comradery of their first meeting, then Tharkay would break away and the pattern would begin again. Even Temeraire had noticed.

“Do you not enjoy talking with us?” he asked, his wings stretched wide to catch the breeze. “I like talking to you.”

“Your company is much preferred to those I’ve had previously, Temeraire.” Tharkay replied.

“Yet you always seem to force yourself away afterwards.”

Laurence was gazing longingly at the camp far below. “I believe we’ve scouted out a decent path, perhaps we should—"

“Is it because you and Laurence had briefly been lovers?” Temeraire asked, and Laurence suddenly found himself choking on air. “Was the experience not satisfactory? Is that why you are prickly towards him?”

Laurence of course had discreetly told Temeraire the full story of his and Tharkay’s shared past shortly after they’d begun the journey. Partly because he felt he owed the dragon an explanation as to why the guide might act…oddly around Laurence, and partly because he just needed to tell someone. Temeraire had taken the news easily, in fact he had begun a line of question that ran from “why are relations between men illegal, it doesn’t appear to be harming anyone else” to “how exactly does it work” and left Laurence feeling far more tense than he did when he had first broached the subject. He had returned to camp with a face so red that Keynes had demanded to listen to his chest. And now as they glided on warming winds of the great desert, Laurence was beginning to wonder whether he should’ve said anything at all, now that he was firmly trapped on dragon-back several hundred feet in the air.

Temeraire carried on heedless of his captain’s discomfort. “And anyways, I do not think that is the case. I am certain Laurence is quite competent. Excidium would surely have mentioned something to me if Jane was displeased with—”

“Ah Temeraire, mind the eagle.” Laurence called, though his throat suddenly felt parched. “She just swooped under your left wing; you wouldn’t want to knock her out of the sky.”

He dared a glance at Tharkay; the man was looking away with a hand clamped firmly over his mouth and his shoulders shaking, a snort of laughter escaped from between his fingers.

“No,” Tharkay said once he’d manage to assume his usually stoic mask, though Laurence noticed the corner of his lips still twitched. “I have no complaints regarding your captain’s and my…previous meeting, if that is what concerns you. As far as my keeping a distance, that is a habit formed of time and experience and one not easily broken. Do not think that this in anyway reflects upon you, Temeraire. I have enjoyed your company.”

He hadn’t mentioned how he felt about Laurence’s company, but part of Laurence mind was still caught on the line “I have no complaints,” he wasn’t sure how he should consider that phrase.

Tharkay had managed to distract Temeraire with talk of how sandstorms altered the landscape; he kept the dragon sufficiently occupied until they’d landed. Temeraire, understanding the danger to his captain in speaking about certain personal subjects around others, did not continue the conversation in the presence of the crew. Laurence could only be grateful for this, but he noted that Tharkay had once again drifted away from them. He wondered how long the other man’s self-imposed exile would last this time.

***

Despite their much-improved state now that they’d stumbled upon the oasis, Laurence found it difficult to sleep. He could blame it on the drone of the mosquitos; he could blame it on the chilled night air of the desert; he could even blame it on the stench of the remaining camels, though that last one was a stretch as he strongly suspected their party hardly smelled much better, but Laurence knew the true source of his insomnia had planted his tent several yards from the rest of the group and was keeping himself to himself and his eagle of course. Crawling out from his tent, Laurence waved at the men on sentry duty. Temeraire lay curled in a loose arch around their camp with Laurence’s tent closest to his snout; the camels were kept further away and Tharkay’s tent even further, just at the tip of the dragon’s tail. Laurence found himself, not quite striding, striding implied a sense of purpose which he seemed to lack, meandering towards that far point in the camp. He’d forgone putting his boots back on, though he’d clipped on his sword belt, he was tired not brainless after all, and the sand felt cool against his bare feet. All too soon he was before the tent, still without a plan. He wanted answers, that much he knew; he wanted to know why Tharkay thought it just to leave them without a word in such dire straits, even if his venture paid off.

The sound of movement inside the tent alerted Laurence that his presence was known. Instead of walking off or even taking on a stern demeanor, Laurence folded down onto the ground, sitting cross-legged in the sand. A moment later Tharkay emerged, the silver glow of the moon overhead casting his face in shadowed lines and bright swaths. Laurence once had to suffer through a conversation with one of his father’s colleagues; the man had been something of a self-proclaimed art aficionado and had been trying to explain the use of chiaroscuro in paintings. It meant to bring life to a picture by combining dark and light. Seeing Tharkay so silhouetted, Laurence was beginning to understand the usefulness of such a technique.

The sculpture of moonlight and shadow tilted its head, expression even more unreadable thanks to the night. “Is this a proposition?”

“An inquiry.”

“Of?”

“Why?” The words were as soft as the ones before, barely a distraction from the song of the mosquitos. “Why did you feel it right to leave us without a word?”

“I was not entirely sure of the location of the oasis. I did not wish to give false hope.”

“False hope would have been better than believing we had been abandoned.”

“I was returning to you.”

“We only have your word that you were.”

“Is that not enough?” Again, that note of challenge echoed from the lips of that stoic mask.

The mix of shadow and light made Tharkay appear like a deity of the moon: cold, remote and beautiful as the orb that hung above their heads. It made Laurence ache for the young man lit by the muddy firelight of a crowded inn’s tavern.

“I…I do not know.” Laurence said, he’d once been inelegantly honest with that long-ago youth, he could be honest again with this chilly memorial of him. “But I wish it to be.”

The many-voiced cry had Laurence jolting to his feet, Tharkay rising just after him. From the edges of the camp, the raiders came swarming into their midst. Already Laurence could see his crew fumbling out of their tents; one of the men on watch managed to fire a shot. Temeraire was up though not quite alert, lingering exhaustion made his blinks slow and his movements somewhat jerky. Laurence began to run back to the others, cursing the fact that he didn’t have his boots. At least he’d remembered his sword, drawing the weapon as he ran. The heavy panting to his side told him that Tharkay was keeping pace.

“The camels, that will be their main target.” He said, keeping his breaths measured as he unsheathed a rather wicked looking long knife.

They all converged at a central point, the raiders, the crew, Temeraire, and Tharkay and himself. Laurence met a downward swipe of a saber with a swipe of his own sword. Not only did he have to contend with man and weapon but the horse as well. The creature, though rather small in stature, could still pack enough power in a kick to kill a man, and its movements were finicky, no doubt too skittish in the presence of a dragon. This worked to Laurence’s advantage as in one moment its rider had again slashed his blade forward, the creature hopped slightly to the side. This caused the man to overextend his reach. Laurence grabbed his arm and, while half-dragging him off the saddle, stabbed him in the gut. The horse bolted off, its rider still dangling from the stirrups, but that was the least of Laurence’s concerns.

The crew were still slow in their movements, stymied by sleep and, Laurence strongly suspected, no small amount of inebriation. One of the younger ensigns, he thought it was Allen, had gotten himself shot in the shoulder. And young Digby was doing his damnedest to keep the camels from fleeing. Laurence was hurrying towards the boy when another raider, this one on foot, blocked his way. They traded blows before Laurence managed a deep slice along the ruffian’s thigh and then a chop to the neck as the man fell.

He looked up just in time to see Tharkay yanking a pistol from a stumbling Salyer and shooting an oncoming horseman in the chest. In another fluid motion he managed to slice open the stomach of another rider’s horse and, pulling a short, curved blade from his boot, hurled it at the raider where it firmly embedded itself in the man’s neck. Temeraire’s cry drew Laurence’s attention to the supply tent, and the next few moments passed in a blur. Their end came with what remained of the raiders fleeing into the night, and the crew mourning the loss of Macdonaugh, one of the midwingmen and the only casualty besides Allen’s bullet wound to the shoulder. Their nerves caught between over-alertness and lingering exhaustion, they set about repairing what they could of the camp and their supplies.

Laurence’s path of repair eventually wound its way to Tharkay. The other man was checking the camels for injury. He had meant to merely glance at the man and move on, but something snagged in his mind and he found himself turning back to the guide.

“You remembered.” He said. Seeing the other man’s quizzical look, he continued. “About the blade in the boot.”

Tharkay blinked at him for a moment before a glint of recollection sparked in his eyes. He shrugged. “Good advice is good advice, regardless of the source. Shame you didn’t follow your own guidance.”

This last statement was accompanied by a pointed look at Laurence’s still bare feet. Laurence was at a loss for a retort, so he simply turned and walked back to Temeraire.

***

It was a mere handful of days before they were finally free of the desert; a handful of days more found them at the foothills of the warren of mountain ranges that stood between them and Istanbul. The ice- and snow-covered peaks pierced the heavens and plunged downwards into darker, more temperate valleys. Life along the slopes was hard to spot, but the specimens they managed to find, from scrappy goats to small birds to the briefest flash of spotted leopard, were sturdy of constitution. Wind whipped past them, too cold and too sharp yet never full enough to satisfy the lungs, as they hurried onward, Temeraire’s wings beating out a steady staccato rhythm. There was human life as well, as tough and stubborn as the other creatures that called the mountains their home.  

Laurence was perched on Temeraire’s forearm, gazing at a far-off monastery; its stony walls were nearly impossible to discern from the mountains surrounding it. Only the small, brightly colored flags flapping about it showed that there was life in that distant cloister.

“I cannot tell if I feel lonely or…closed in.” Temeraire sighed. “These mountains are…”

“Like an embrace.” Laurence said, remembering a long-ago conversation.

“Hmm, I suppose. Though I do not know much about embraces.”

Laurence smiled. “It is rather difficult to hug a dragon, my dear.”

Temeraire made a purring rumble and nudged at him. Laurence chuckled and rested his cheek against the warm snout. They remained thus in companionable silence until Roland trotted along to say that Tharkay had returned with some herdsmen from a nearby village. And they were then introduced to the technique of drugging livestock. For his part, Temeraire rather enjoyed the novelty of being able to prod at the pigs without sending the creatures into a fit of heart-stopping terror. For his part, Laurence worried about looking after a drugged dragon if Tharkay’s scheme did not pan out.

“At most, he will sleep well at night.” Tharkay shrugged. And as it seemed that was indeed the worst of the effects, that and some rather sonorous snoring, Laurence let the matter go. And so, they continued onward with their new mobile stock of barnyard animals. At least until said animals attracted some rather enterprising, and very hungry, gazes.

The lean pack of ferals had Temeraire’s ruff spread wide within the moment they’d surrounded the camp. A glance about showed Laurence that the rest of the crew were spread out along the grassy ridge, frozen in their tasks of setting up the gear; the only one closest to him and Temeraire was Tharkay. The man was moving slowly towards them, his gaze on the wild dragons but his arm was waving at Temeraire, trying to snag the Celestial’s attention. The dragon Laurence assumed to be the leader, a bristly fellow with a splash of red running along the side of its snout and down its neck, stepped forward and growled something at Temeraire. The great black dragon’s response was a too familiar swelling of the chest.

And Tharkay was now somehow managing the feat of shouting in whisper. “Temeraire. Temeraire, do not—”

Too late. The deep rumble of Temeraire’s warning had already reverberated out from his chest and into the air. It echoed strangely about the peaks, almost as if the stone was absorbing it. Absorbing it, and sending an answer back. The thunder that followed had the ferals squawking and fleeing every which way, some even crashing into one another. Laurence looked up to see a slab of white detach itself from the side of the cliff above them.

The mass of ice and snow stampeded towards them across the small valley. To Laurence, the seconds before it struck took on a fractured stillness, each image frozen and oddly remote. Temeraire was behind him, still half-crouched, his eyes wide with more confusion than fear. Tharkay beside him, his hands cupped to shout at the crew, his words muffled by the oncoming roar of the mountains. A blink. Laurence saw his hand reach out, grasping Tharkay’s arm. Another blink. He spun the man around and up against Temeraire’s foreleg in one sweeping motion. Another blink. He shoved Tharkay up, as high as he could manage, onto the straps that ran along Temeraire’s shoulder. And then the wave was upon him. Laurence had just enough thought to loosen his grasp on Tharkay, so as not to pull the man down with him, as he was bowled over and borne away by the cold. He tumbled; his side struck up against something and his progress was halted. Laurence was aware of the snow sloshing over him.

Then as quickly as it had struck, it stilled. Now there was only the weight of the snow around him, sticking to his skin, sealing off the air. Laurence flailed, his right arm managing to break free of the mass. He had begun to paw at the snow above his head when someone grabbed his arm and hauled him free, his side twinging at the movement. Gloved hands were wiping his face clean. He greedily sucked in the stinging air. Someone was shouting something but the ringing in his ears drowned out everything. Their hands were lightly slapping his cheeks. Opening his eyes seemed a near impossible feat but Laurence managed, then immediately regretted his accomplishment. Too bright, it was all too bright. He focused on the blur before his eyes. Rapid blinking slowly turned the shape into the face of a rather furious Tharkay, still slapping Laurence’s cheeks.

With a small pop, the ringing stopped in time for him to hear: “—damned, bloody, thick-headed, half-wit of a captain. Brain half drowned with salt water, the other half blown away by the wind. Don’t you dare—”

Laurence managed to catch Tharkay’s hands in his numb ones. “Fine,” he croaked. “I am fine.”

Tharkay turned and called over his shoulder. “Your fool of a captain lives, Temeraire, now start digging. We cannot waste a moment.”

He pulled Laurence to his feet and half-dragged him towards the Celestial.

“The crew?” Laurence asked, coughing and wincing at the pain along his side.

“We shall tell in a moment how they fared.”

“Yourself?”

Tharkay shot him a glare over his shoulder. “I am fine, the snow barely reached me from where you’d tossed me up to Temeraire. And I would’ve been fine had you left me where I was and braced yourself instead.” 

Laurence blinked at the anger in the other man’s voice. Belatedly he realized that if anyone in their group knew how best to handle an avalanche it would be Tharkay. He also realized that, judging by the grip the other man had on Laurence’s arm, he should keep silent and focus on digging, for both his crew’s health and his own.

***

With his crew either resting in what remained of their camp gear or soaking in the cavern’s hot waters, Laurence walked over to Temeraire’s side. The dragon turned his gaze from Gong Su’s progress on the pigs to nudge gently at his captain. He twitched when Laurence winced.

“Are you well, Laurence?” he asked.

Laurence rubbed Temeraire’s snout. “Perfectly, my dear, only some small bruising. I fared better than many of the crew.”

“Then remove your shirt.”

Heat flooded Laurence’s cheeks as he turned to see Tharkay behind him, his face still set in grim lines. His stance brooked no argument, and his position effectively cut Laurence off from the rest of the group, pinned between him and Temeraire.

“I am not—”

Tharkay waved away his protest, reaching out to grab the back of Laurence’s coat. “If you choose to act the fool, then expect just reactions from those who must suffer the results. You managed to worm your way out of your surgeon’s examination, but I saw how your side pained you. Take off your coat.”

“You should not call Laurence a fool.” Temeraire said, though perhaps less aggressively than he normally would have when defending his captain’s honor.

“I will only call him a fool when he has done something foolish. And what he did on the mountain was foolish, was it not? He let himself get dragged away by the avalanche; he worried you.”

Temeraire titled his head, appearing to consider Tharkay’s argument. After a moment he nodded. “Well, yes, that was unwise of him, and actions such as those do cause me a great deal of worry. But that is also who Laurence is, and I doubt much name-calling from us will change that.”

The flush that had remained on Laurence’s cheeks deepened with mortification. To be talked over so, like he was a child whose parents were debating what form of rebuke to dole out. It did not help that Tharkay still had one hand firmly fisted in the back of his jacket.

“I agree,” Tharkay said, heedless of Laurence’s embarrassment. “Still, you cannot fault one for trying. So I will continue to call him a fool while he continues to act such in the hopes that he might learn and perhaps moderate his behavior.”

“Hmm,” Temeraire’s narrowed eyes were more thoughtful than offended.

“If it will appease you, I’ll keep the audience limited to the three of us, so you may be assured that Laurence keeps his dignity.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“If you two are quite finished.” Laurence said through clenched teeth.

“Currently,” Tharkay glared. “no doubt Temeraire and I will have time to commiserate on your martyring habits later. Now, take off your coat and shirt.”

He tugged at the cloth, and Laurence, face now flaming, allowed himself to be divested of his upper garments. He resolutely stomped down any recollections of the last time he’d undressed before Tharkay. Wincing, Laurence pulled his shirt over his head and heard Temeraire hiss. He glanced down to see deep purple bruises splotched up and down his side.

Tharkay brushed his fingertips along the contusions. “How is your breathing?”

“Fine for the most part.” Laurence answered, relieved that he hadn’t tripped over the words with Tharkay’s touch. It helped that the man’s expression was one of clinical focus.

“Then they are not broken, at least. Perhaps cracked, at worst.”

Those rough hands still moved along Laurence’s side, his chest. They gently pushed and prodded, kneading his bruised flesh to feel the aching bone beneath. Once he seemed satisfied in his examination, Tharkay pulled out a tightly wrapped bundle of bandages and a small jar from one of his many pockets. He smeared a dollop of the contents onto his fingers and began to rub it into the discolored skin. Laurence flinched away at the coolness; his face was still deeply flushed from mortification, but the protest that rose to his lips died when he saw Temeraire’s expression, snout twitching with worry, and the way Tharkay’s brow furrowed with anger, the glint in his eyes promising a worse experience than being bowled over by snow should Laurence speak.

The ointment applied, Tharkay began to wind the bandages around Laurence’s middle. His fingers moved ever so lightly, keeping the binding just tight enough while guiding each layer to evenly set. Laurence again questioned how a man who seemed so determined to be seen as unreliable would bother with such tasks as seeing to the health of the man who hired him. The resolution that had been forming in Laurence’s mind during the more recent parts of their journey only further solidified.

His work complete, Tharkay bid Laurence to dress again.

“The poultice will help reduce swelling, and the bandages should keep anything knocked about from further jarring loose.” He said. “Provided you choose not to pick any more fights with mountains.”

And with that he turned away, walking with rigid strides back to camp.

“You did worry us so very much, Laurence.” Temeraire sighed.

***

Laurence’s side did heal, thanks in part to no further ice sheets being dropped on him. Indeed, by the time they’d arrived in Istanbul, been misconstrued as a small hostile invasion force thanks in part to the greedy machinations of Arkady and his ilk, told that the deal for the three dragon eggs had fallen through, been allowed a space on the palace grounds to rest which turned out to be not much more than a gilded cage, had their requests for an audience with the Sultan ignored, had two of their rowdiest members nearly executed for trying to creep in to see the harem, and then had those same two men flogged, Laurence felt quite up to any type of physical exertion. And if said exertion took the form of slinking through the streets of the old city with Tharkay, the man had done another disappearing act and Laurence swore to himself he’d somehow tie a bell to him, to see the third party in the failed deal between two countries, he wasn’t about to complain.

The front hall of Maden’s house was luxurious in an unobtrusive way. Laurence felt rather reluctant to leave it and again climb into the extravagant gardens of the Sultan. But Tharkay had scampered out the front door as soon as it was open wide enough for a cat to slink through. Laurence looked back to the foyer where the reason for the other man’s hasty retreat stood. Something rather like a rusty fish hook scraped across the inside of his chest as made a polite bow to Ms. Maden and her mother. He had no reason to resent the young woman; only, that the memory of the flash of pain in Tharkay’s eyes as Maden told them of his daughter’s engagement sent a feeling akin to anger trickling through Laurence’s heart. Towards Tharkay, Laurence only felt an empathetic ache. A plan for happiness and stability pushed beyond one’s grasp is a hard sight to gaze upon, and one that Laurence was all too familiar with. Though at least in his circumstance he had Temeraire. Who did Tharkay have?

Laurence clasped Maden’s hand in one last firm handshake. “Again, sir, I thank you for risking your reputation and business, if not your safety, in helping us sort this matter out.”

“I cannot say that I helped you sort anything out.” Maden sighed. “But I pray that you will find some luck, or preferably your missing payment, and,” he paused, glancing at the doorway. “please give my sincerest…well wishes to Mr. Tharkay.”

Laurence nodded and walked out; Tharkay was standing just outside along the street, very pointedly looking out towards the harbor.

“Thank you, for bringing me to see Maden.”

Tharkay didn’t so much as twitch. “You needed answers; languishing in that glorified pen would have soon driven you to more desperate means than sneaking out to a dinner.”

The silence that followed was stilted and stiff as they walked back to the boat for the crossing. Part of Laurence wanted to ask if Tharkay was alright. Another part of him told him he had no business prodding into the other man’s affairs. And another part, located somewhere near the center of his ribcage, just felt a general sense of misery at seeing Tharkay in pain.

***

“You know, your actions are counterproductive to your designs of being an enigmatic, untrustworthy individual.” Laurence said once he could breathe evenly. A failed attempt at sneaking back into the palace grounds and a subsequent chase through the city and through an ancient sewer system could really knock the wind out of a man. As it was, Laurence didn’t feel quite up to the task of crawling away from the shadowy tangle of brambles along the garden wall just yet.

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“You distance yourself from the crew, but I have seen you try teach them Durzagh and keep the younger officers out of harm’s way. You claim to dislike conversation, but you are more than willing to discuss Chinese poetry with Temeraire and teach him about the land and the languages of dragons and men from far flung reaches. You leave our group unannounced and at seemingly random intervals, yet you bring good tidings upon your return. And you seem to dislike me, but you keep returning, either to goad me or confound me.”

Tharkay stared at him, eyes narrowed. “And what do these observations tell you?”

“I believe part of you wishes to be kept separate from the world around you, while the other cannot help but be drawn back in with the tide, so to speak. Either way, I will have done with it.”

“If my absence is what you wish—” Tharkay began, but Laurence wouldn’t let him slip out of this. He had something to say, and while he wasn’t a man of great words, he could damn well get his meaning across.

“I have no talent for disassembling the narratives of others, particularly when they choose to conceal as much of it as they can, but I can tell you were dealt a bad blow in life that has left you scarred and wary.” He could see Tharkay wanting to interrupt but Laurence persisted. “And you are within your rights to keep your caution, and I know that our shared past makes you…cautious about how to act around me, but you need know that I am willing to give you my trust, even if I have not earned yours. And if you decide to grant me that, I believe I may promise to return such loyalty in equal measure with my own. I once told you that, had we been friends, you would have been missed. And while we cannot currently claim such relationship, I can confidently say the loss of your presence would be felt most sorely.”

Having said his piece, Laurence stood and began to slink his way back to the section of garden where their group was resting. He refused to look behind him to see if Tharkay followed. This was partly due to the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure the night hid the flush on his cheeks. But the other man was beside Laurence when Temeraire lifted them over the last wall, and the crew surrounded them.

Surrounded, and then took several steps back, many of the men clapping their hands over their noses.

“Any luck?” Granby asked. At least he had the decency not to grimace.

“Some, I think.” Laurence began undressing, the pond near him now looked extremely inviting.

“Well you certainly don’t smell lucky.”

Laurence shot his First Lieutenant a pained smile. “The line between good luck and bad is a thin and very foul smelling one. I will tell you all once I’ve scraped the bottom of this city off my skin. Can you see if Roland and Dyer can try to salvage these? I’d hate to lose another set of garments before this journey is through.”

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t end up returning to Dover in just your stockings and shirt tails.” Granby grinned. 

Tossing the last of his clothes into a somewhat pungent heap, Laurence sank into the cool water of the pond, pushing several lilies out of the way. Dyer trotted back to hand him a tray of soap bars before scuttling off again with the remainder of Laurence’s garments. Laurence internally winced at the thought of the grim task he had set for his runners; the muck and bile of the sewers would take ages to come off his trousers and cloak, and he prayed his boots were not a lost cause. He offered the soap to an already soaked Tharkay while he ducked under the water. He emerged to the sight of a bubble covered man rather vengefully scouring his arms. Laurence grabbed a soap bar and began to wash himself, the overly fragrant lather now a relief from the rank of the sewers. They washed in companionable silence for several minutes, Laurence’s mind trying to spin connections between the missing payment, the missing secretary and the council of the Sultan. He mulled and muddled through theories until the quiet was broken by a soft huff.

“I wanted you to distrust me.” Tharkay said, as he scrubbed suds through his hair.

“Pardon?”

Tharkay sunk lower in the water, his gaze firmly on the bar of soap in his hands. “I wanted to see you as I saw all my fellow ex-countrymen; I had thought that if I sowed enough doubt into your mind, and if you reacted in kind I would be vindicated in my assumptions. But you are so horrendously stubborn.”

He ducked under the water and Laurence was left staring at the glassy surface. To receive such a straightforward answer from Tharkay, who had done his damnedest to be goading and enigmatic at every turn, was startling. Perhaps his declaration after their escape had triggered some sort of reaction in the other man. It felt almost like that night at the inn so many years ago, when they’d let awkward bits of honesty slip between them.

Tharkay emerged a moment later, shaking water from his hair. “I am striking my colors, so to speak. If my friendship is what you desire, for what little value it will bring, it is yours. Damn stubborn fool. You and your busybody dragon.”

There was no malice in the last of his words, and Laurence found himself grinning.

“You scowl at my wish to be friends, but I assure you, Temeraire will be far worse. He is fast becoming fond of you, and you have yet to face the full force of a dragon’s affections.”

Tharkay snorted and splashed at Laurence’s face.

***

The buzz of the Prussian army’s encampment settled around Laurence’s ears like a swarm of gnats, impossible to shoo away. He could hear Temeraire breathing through the thin cloth of the tent. The dragon lay only a few feet away, closely guarding their hard-won prizes. The two eggs, two new dragon breeds for Britain at the cost of a king’s ransom and a boy’s life. The letter to Digby’s family was still only half-written. But the most demanding missive that needed to be sent was the one that Laurence wasn’t entirely sure he’d receive an answer to in turn. Twenty dragons promised, and they were twenty dragons short. Well, nineteen if he counted Temeraire, and apparently Laurence would have to, was ordered to. They were so close to home, just a few weeks’ flight and they’d be back at Dover and the world could regain some semblance of normality. Yet surrounded as they were by the mustering Prussian forces, Laurence felt as far from England as if he were still waiting in harbor at Canton.

“What? Why ever would you do that?” Temeraire’s voice cut through Laurence’s reverie. He couldn’t quite hear the response of whoever was speaking to the dragon, but Temeraire’s end of the conversation carried loud and clear. “But surely you need not go; what if we need to cross another desert, or Laurence has a mountain dropped on him again?”

Laurence had a fairly good guess as to whom Temeraire was speaking. Sure enough, a moment later, and more cross mutterings from Temeraire which no doubt a quarter of the camp could hear, Tharkay ducked into the tent. Laurence rose and gestured for the other man to take his seat, noting how Tharkay still limped.

“Can I assume from the conversation I just overheard that you plan on parting ways with our company?”

Tharkay’s expression was half smirk, half grimace as he stretched out the leg that had been burned. “If it helps, I doubt you will need to cross many deserts from here to England.”

“Is this because of your injury? I am certain we can find a doctor to treat the wound if it has worsened.”

“No,” Tharkay waved away his concern. “it heals, slow but steady. No, I can be of no more use to you here. I am not one of your aviators, and I know mountains and sandy wastelands better than I know battlefields.”

Laurence frowned. “Your argument is sound, and you have led us through so much more than what we had originally agreed upon.”

“Oh no, I normally sneak into the harem of the Sultan to steal dragon eggs; it adds a bit of whimsy to my otherwise quiet life.”

“In all seriousness, Tharkay, I owe you a debt of gratitude, not to mention your actual payment—”

“Defer it for when we meet again.”

Laurence was curious to find something like determination settling upon the other man’s brow. “Will we meet again?”

“I am sure I will be, as you said, drawn back in with the tide. And besides, the world is a rapidly shrinking place; I am certain our paths will cross at least once more.” Tharkay smirked, shaking Laurence’s proffered hand. He stood and ducked out of the tent, Laurence following close behind.

“I am glad to have met you again. After all of this, I am glad.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Tharkay turned back, the smirk now a small lopsided smile. “As am I.”

***

There were dragons everywhere, zig-zagging across the sky above the citadel, perched upon the ramparts, nosing about the courtyard and sending the Prussian soldiers stumbling back. But these were no French forces, their lean forms and bare backs showed they had no captains. As if to confirm Laurence’s suspicions, a very familiar dragon with a bright red streak sauntered up to Temeraire, his chest puffed up as he began to brag to the Celestial in Durzagh.

“I hope we are not unwelcome.”

Laurence spun around to see a thoroughly windswept Tharkay walking towards them. He wobbled as he strode; he had dark circles beneath his eyes; his hair was a matted mess that stuck out every which way; his clothes were all varying shades of dusty; his face was scruffy with what looked like several weeks’ worth of growth. All in all, he was a match for the motley gang of dragons he’d brought with him. And it took all of Laurence’s restraint not to wrap the man up in a tight embrace. He settled for a vigorous handshake. 

“You managed to convince twenty ferals to fly across a war zone with little idea of what direction you should even be traveling,” Laurence shook his head, his hand still clasped Tharkay’s. “I doubt I’ll understand the method behind this madness. But Tharkay, you are brilliant.”

Tharkay’s half-smile reminded Laurence of a bright spring dawn. “I am aware of that, but it is nice to see it confirmed in the eyes of others. As for the method, you may thank a certain feral leader’s greed and vanity for that. He fancied himself a hero, coming to Temeraire’s aid, and with the promise of being well fed by the Aerial Corps’ coin, Arkady was more than willing to be convinced to take up the journey.”

Laurence realized he was still holding on to Tharkay’s hand. He let it drop, the crisp late autumn air seemed to nip more severely at his skin from the loss.

“Twenty dragons,” Granby whistled once he’d shaken Tharkay’s hand. “If we manage to escape this rat trap and get back to Britain, half the Corps will be convinced you’re a wizard.”

“They may think of me what they will. Though I would think any sorcerer up to snuff would have at least conjured suitable rigging. And something shiny to keep the lot from trying to pillage every other town we passed.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of General Kalkreuth and his aides. The men didn’t seem to know which way to turn, taking in the menagerie of wings, teeth and claws.

“General.” Laurence called. “I believe we need to discuss a change in our current situation.”

And discuss they did, but not to anyone’s satisfaction. Kalkreuth was astounded listening to Tharkay’s story, he kept glancing out the nearest window where several of the ferals could be see slinking about the courtyard.  But the dim glimmer of hope that had appeared in the man’s eyes faded away once they explained that the dragons had no training and spoke no language outside their own other than some Turkish.

“No,” Kalkreuth sighed. “You have accomplished a truly incredible feat, sir, but as the dragons can do no better than skirmish, I have little faith we would succeed in an attack against the French. At the very least, they will be able to provide cover so you and your crew may escape.”

Laurence tried to protest but the general raised is hand for silence.

“This is my decision, Captain Laurence. I can see no way out for my men and me, but I will be damned if I let a pair of dragons such as yours and the young fire-breather fall into the hands of that blasted Corsican. Now, take what time you need to prepare for your flight.”

Tharkay was led away by one of the aides to find a spare room and, hopefully, a long rest. Laurence only wished that the man could go to bed knowing his long, near impossible labor had not been for naught. He made his way back out to the citadel’s courtyard, glumly pacing along its rampart. The ferals would prove more than enough of a distraction to allow Temeraire, crew and baby dragon included, to escape, but the thought of abandoning Kalkreuth and his men to face the wrath of the French and Lien left a sour taste in the back his mouth.  For their part, Arkady and his pack were content with their current surroundings, poking about the courtyard, flying passes overhead, napping in patches of sunlight, and, after an incident that resulted in a slightly singed snout, giving Iskierka a wide, respectful berth.

Temeraire looked up from where he lay watching the crew prepare their supplies. “Laurence, are we not going to face the French now that Arkady and the others are here? Granted, they will not nearly be as good at fighting as Maximus or Lily, but surely we have a chance.”

“I am afraid, my dear, that General Kalkreuth has declined the offer of assistance that the ferals might provide.”

“And after all the work Tharkay did to bring them here.” Those deep blue eyes were downcast. “It seems such a waste.”

Laurence hated to see Temeraire looking so dejected, but the choice had been made, and he could only respect Kalkreuth’s wishes. “It does indeed. But the General does not wish to gamble his position in the hopes that a pack of untrained dragons might fight off the ranks of Bonaparte’s war machine and a vengeful Celestial.”

Temeraire’s ruff suddenly perked up. “Perhaps not to fight, but one does not need training to carry.”

“I do not follow.”

“Laurence, the ferals can carry the soldiers, at least as far as those ships waiting in the harbor. Might we not take the army with us?”

A slow, uncertain smile spread across Laurence’s lips as the idea bounced around his mind before settling in a small pool of hope. 

***

Laurence hurried along through the halls of the citadel, his pace, for the first time in a long while, spurred on by optimism and anticipation rather than apprehension. He nearly slid to a halt outside Tharkay’s quarters; the thick wood of the door required that he turn his polite knock into a rather rude banging of a fist. A moment later the man emerged, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily at him.

“I beg your pardon for waking you.” Laurence said, trying not to stare at the way Tharkay’s sleep tousled hair framed his face. “But we need your assistance with the ferals.”

“I thought Kalkreuth wasn’t willing to risk an assault using them.”

“We are not to fight; we are to flee.”

Tharkay paused in scratching at the stubble on his cheek to arch an eyebrow. “I do not believe you to be one fond of flying from confrontation, from what I’ve seen on this journey I can safely say you prefer to fly head first into it, so may I assume that there is some twist to this scheme?”

“We are taking the Prussian army with us.”

“Naturally.” Tharkay nodded, his tone sounded almost bored. “Well, I will require coffee first. I want to be well awake when I attempt to convince Arkady and his ilk to go along with this madcap plot.”

He disappeared inside the room, emerging a moment later with his still dusty coat. He slipped into it as he passed Laurence, his elbow just brushing against Laurence’s arm. In that moment as Tharkay walked by, Laurence caught a view of his face in profile. The tan skin was tinged grey with exhaustion and the half-circles under his eyes were worryingly dark, but the eyes themselves blazed with a fierce determination. They seemed to shine out with a reflecting glimmer that brought a whole new life to the usually stoic and cynical mask. Laurence wondered at the subtle yet distinct transformation those eyes had created. He wondered if this was the Tharkay of years past or a new individual forged with armor from a fraught life but kindled with a new zeal for living.

He’d been pondering the look in those eyes for long enough that Tharkay had gotten well ahead of him. The other man paused at the foot of the stairs, perhaps realizing that Laurence was still stalled in the corridor, and turned back.

“Coming? Your mad dragon’s plan cannot come to fruition without his mad captain.”

There was a small half-smile on Tharkay’s lips. And Laurence found his own mouth grinning in return.

“He’s not mad.” Laurence said, striding towards Tharkay. “In fact, I’m quite certain Temeraire is the cleverest of us all.”

“Of course, he is,” Tharkay began to ascend the stairs with Laurence beside him. “otherwise, he would not have chosen you.”

While Laurence couldn’t tell if that was meant to praise or taunt, he couldn’t help the warm wave that traveled up his spine at the words. He spared another smile at Tharkay as together they stepped out into the bright grey light of an autumn day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I was planning on this chapter only being between 6,000-8,000 words...guess that got a little out of hand. Let me know if you see any particularly egregious grammar/spelling errors; I don't have a beta (fish or reader) so I'm sure a few mistakes slipped through. Now I'm going to turn off my brain for a day or two before beginning work on the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 2. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecomings are not always full of joy, and a guilty soul is a heavy burden, even if the soul in question is in the right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Empire of Ivory and Victory of Eagles combined. Oh boy, I was right in thinking this chapter would kick my ass. It definitely turned out shorter than expected, but I'm just not sure what more I can add; I got stuck. Same format as the previous chapter: various scenes throughout canon. I pulled a direct quote from Shakespeare's Henry IV Part 1, it will be marked and a notation made in the end notes.

The eerie silence that fell on Edinburgh gave the impression of a beating heart gone cold and still. The normally congested arteries of the old town were completely clear of all life, save the occasional stray animal. Laurence found the emptiness a small blessing for the moment; he didn’t think he’d be able to adequately compose himself to walk through a crowd of strangers. He wasn’t sure the walk from the covert back to where Temeraire waited would provide him with enough time to compose himself either.

It was that death rattle, wet and cloying, that echoed in Laurence’s ears. Even as far as he had walked from the covert, he still could hear that awful struggle for breath in his mind. Victoriatus and the other dragons quarantined there were wilted and drained, and their captains were mirrors of them; the men losing life alongside their scaly companions. Laurence had to stop for a moment as the image of Captain Clark, prone beside the dying Parnassian, flickered before his eyes. Deep breaths were required to keep the rising panic and nausea at bay. What if Temeraire caught the disease? Would he hack and wheeze as his lungs slowly filled with mucus and bile?

Laurence bent over, hands on knees, and tried not to dry heave. It was good he’d foregone breakfast. His gasps echoed faintly in the streets around him.

Once he was certain his stomach and heart would not come crawling up his throat, Laurence rose up and resumed a slow walk back to the others. It was somewhat of a challenge to compose his message to Temeraire and the crew without actually having to think about what it all meant. Maximus and Lilly, Temeraire’s friends and formation members were now as distant to him as his kin back in Peking.

Temeraire wouldn’t be able to tell them about China, about how the rights and freedoms given to dragons there, about paid work and pavilions. What did a dying dragon care about pavilions? All of Temeraire’s hopes for a movement for dragons’ rights would be halted before it even picked up any momentum. That only added a fresh barb to the sickening churn in Laurence’s heart.

But he had to move on, had to face Temeraire and the crew with the news. He could not delegate this task to anyone else. His feet were slow in carrying him, but they would get him back, even if they might stumble.

The growls and whistles of the Durzagh language echoed ahead of him, yanking him from his morose contemplation. Laurence rounded a corner to see one of the smaller ferals with its head stuck in a window. Tharkay stood by its neck trying to pull it free while also, by the tone of his voice, berating the foolish creature. He looked up as Laurence approached.

“A little assistance, if you please.” Tharkay gestured tiredly at the window. “Lester was a bit too inquisitive, and I’m afraid the owners of this house will not appreciate the new wall mount.”

Grateful for the small distraction, Laurence tried to peer around the sill. “It appears he has his horn caught on the rim. He’ll have to push forward first.”

Tharkay relayed the instructions. Lester didn’t seem too pleased; apparently now that he’d stuck his head through the window, he wasn’t keen on sticking it in any further. Perhaps he was intimidated by the fireplace and chaise lounge. With another rebuke from Tharkay, the dragon slowly pushed his head further into the house. Together they tilted his neck at just the right angle and, with the sound of something clattering to the floor inside, managed to pull the little feral free. A little white doily hung from one of his teeth. The dragon shook his head and, without so much as a “by your leave” or whatever the equivalent was in Durzagh, leapt aloft and winged his way back to where the rest of the pack were encamped.

Seeing how the feral moved, unencumbered by illness and full of vitality, brought the sickly feelings Laurence had momentarily suppressed sludging back to the forefront. A deep, shuddering sigh escaped from between his lips as he turned to inspect the damage the impromptu break-in had caused.

“We should leave a note, perhaps payment for damages.” Laurence rubbed at his forehead; he could feel an ache coming on. “It seems the window has had the worst of it—”

“May I assume that the reason we had encountered such feeble defenses upon our arrival is the same reason why you look as if one good breeze might knock you over?”

Laurence shot Tharkay a grimace; how had he been able to read that? “I am not entirely sure what I can tell you. But the situation here…the situation across all of England is…bad. No, it is downright horrifying. Tharkay there are not—they cannot—”

“Then it is just as well we have brought the ferals along.” Tharkay said quietly. “It is time they earn their keep.”

Laurence could only nod as together they made their way back to Temeraire. The silence descended once again, though the echo of a second pair of boots helped keep the pressure away. Another few minutes saw them to the encampment, if it could be called that. The crew was spread out along the alleyways branching off from the main street that Temeraire had managed to wedge himself into. The dragon had to crane his neck around a house to peer down at them as they approached.

“What news from Lenton?” Temeraire called. “And did they give an explanation as to why we had to sleep here for the night?” His talons had left deep scratches in the cobblestone.

“Yes, but,” Laurence peered around solemnly. “I think we had better gather the crew together before I tell you, and perhaps Arkady as well. The ferals must know of this.”

Tharkay was already heading in the direction of the pack leader. “I’ll see to him.”

Laurence found Roland and Dyer and sent them off to round up the others. He roused Granby from a doze; Iskierka was coiled about him with her head resting on his lap, steam lazily rising from her many spikes. The man looked in need of a strong cup of tea.

“What’s o’clock, Laurence?” he yawned.

“Too early for what I have to say.”

Granby’s look of exhaustion was blinked away at the tone of Laurence’ voice. The man nodded and followed him to where the rest of the crew had gathered along Temeraire’s side. Arkady had managed to squeeze himself into an alleyway by Temeraire’s elbow. Tharkay was there beside the feral leader’s head. He gestured that he would leave if necessary but Laurence shook his head. The other man might as well know; he’d earned that right.

Temeraire was still watching him, but Laurence couldn’t bring himself to smile up at him. Instead he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, hands clasped behind his back. There was some comfort in that familiar pose of military stricture. With his body righted, his mind could carry out the sorry task.

“Gentlemen,” he did not raise his voice but the murmurings quieted as he’d begun. “I am sure you are all wondering why we were given no support upon our arrival save the newly installed batteries along the coastline. And simply put, it is because there were no dragons to give said support.”

Questioning looks were directed towards him, but no one spoke.

“There has been…a pestilence, some form of consumption that has spread throughout the coverts and breeding grounds. Nearly every dragon in England has been infected. At best they can barely fly, at worst they can barely breathe. And so far as our doctors are aware, there is no cure.”

Silence, save for the quiet growls of Tharkay translating. The men didn’t seem to know where to look.

“Even—even Excidium?”

Laurence looked to see young Roland leaning heavily against Temeraire’s forearm, her eyes wide with a shock no child of her age should have to face. He nodded once; her skinny form sagged for a moment before she straightened, an imperfect mask of solemnity covering her features, the rapid, watery blinking giving away her distress.

“Our orders are to return to Dover. The dragons there have been quarantined, so we shall have safe lodgings away from the disease. We will most likely be given patrol duty. As it stands, Temeraire, Iskierka and the pack are the only dragons currently capable of defending our shores from the French. I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping them as far from the contagion as possible.” Laurence paused, inhaling deeply and clenching his hands. He couldn’t look at Temeraire just yet. “Be prepared for duty changes; likely, those of you with any grasp at Durzagh will be enlisted to work with the ferals. That is all for now. Begin packing. I would like us to be at Dover before evening.”

The crew dispersed slowly; their limbs leaden with the weight of the situation. Laurence couldn’t find it in himself to chastise them for lingering. The soft growls drew his attention to Tharkay. The man was just finishing his translation to Arkady. The feral leader seemed to lack the usual guile expression; a somber seriousness had set into the dragon’s shoulders. Once Tharkay had finished, Arkady stared acutely at Laurence. Then he barked something that sounded like a question. Tharkay’s answer was firm, whatever it was. The red streaked dragon paused again, then bobbed his head in a nod and shuffled off to the others. 

“The pack will go to Dover.” Tharkay said. “Arkady considers it worth the risk, so long as they are fed properly. Rest assured he will enforce the quarantine on the others.”

Laurence nodded and, knowing he could not put the conversation off any longer, turned to face Temeraire. The dragon looked confused, as if the speech Laurence had made had been in a completely different language, one that even Temeraire couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“But,” he lowered his head to Laurence’s side. “but Maximus and Lilly and the others…”

Laurence rested his hand on the quivering snout. “My dear, they were among the first to catch the illness.”

***

Arriving at Dover felt rather like finding a favorite coat and then realizing that the cloth was too tight in the shoulders, the sleeves were too short, the color was faded, and several buttons were missing. The empty clearings were chilling to see as they had flown overhead. On the ground it was even more so. Laurence kept expecting to be waylaid by a passing ensign or bumping into some ground crewman as they hurried out from between the trees, but there was only the rustle of the bare branches.  

At least the clearing they were currently in held some life in it. Jane was busy inspecting Iskierka, Granby was doing his best not to look nervous, Temeraire and the ferals were peering over from their respective clearings, and the crew was bustling about putting out the small bouts of embers that had escaped the young Kazilik’s firepit. Tharkay looked on with a faintly amused expression.

Having deemed Iskierka fit enough, Jane turned her attentions towards their former guide turned dragon tamer. “So, you’re the fellow that managed to talk a pack of vagabonds into flying to the aid of a country they’d never even heard of, eh? Sir, I don’t know whether to shake your hand or pinch you to make sure you are in fact real.” She held out her hand. “Admiral Jane Roland.”

Tharkay’s amused look only spread further as he shook her hand. Laurence had to resist kicking himself when he realized why. He hoped the cold late autumn air would be reason enough for his reddening cheeks as he eyed the distance to the nearest line of trees. Unfortunately, they were too far to slink away for an escape. Sending a prayer that Temeraire would not have a sudden renewed interest in his past and present personal liaisons, Laurence stood at attention. Perhaps he might have sidled an inch or two towards the pair; it was hard to hear over the crackling and hissing of Iskierka’s firepit.

“Tharkay.” The man’s smirk had been tamed into a more professional expression. “And do not give praise or thanks just yet. I have only brought them here. Shaping them into something vaguely resembling any defensive force, that will be a Herculean feat for the Corps to accomplish.”

Jane eyed the pack. “Are they particularly unmanageable?”

“They can be reasoned with so long as your barnyards are well stocked. They came here for the food. Keep them well fed and you shouldn’t have too much trouble. You will want officers who are quick to pick up on languages; the pack will only respond to Durzagh, though I am beginning to suspect Arkady might be a bit keener than he lets on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jane nodded. “I never thought of having to rely on ferals to protect king and country, but war makes strange bedfellows…Laurence are you all right?”

Laurence glanced up from where he just managed to catch himself from acquainting his face with the ground. He pushed up and dusted off his palms. “Fine. I am fine. I was trying to avoid a few wayward embers and did not pay much mind to my feet.”

The flat look Tharkay gave him over Jane’s shoulder told Laurence his story was short of the par. Laurence decided it was safer to watch the proceedings with Temeraire and did his best not to hurry towards the Celestial. He clambered onto the dragon’s foreleg with as much dignity as he could scrape up in that moment.

“Did something startle you Laurence?” Temeraire asked. “I did not see what you could have possibly tripped over.”

“Have I ever told you of the fraught relationship between cats and curiosity?” Laurence mumbled as he watched Jane begin to haggle with the ferals with the help of Tharkay. She seemed more than a match for Arkady. “I should have remembered it.”

“I did not see any cat where you were standing.”

***

Despite the crackling fire the room was still chilly. There was an empty chair beside him. It sat cold and rather accusing.  Laurence dragged his own chair closer to the grate and huddled into the folds of his too large robe. A glass of brandy rested in his hand. He stared at the amber liquid, but any answers the drink might hold were too quiet for him to hear. He drank it anyway, hoping its false warmth would chase away the frigidity.

They had drunk plenty in celebration of Granby’s official promotion. If one could call the quiet gathering of officers, where no one could really meet anyone else’s gaze, a celebration. Laurence hadn’t intended to continue consuming any more libations, but he’d found the bottle in his hand as he’d been making his way to his quarters, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to put it down. He wasn’t going to drink the lot of it, just enough.

The deadened look in Jane’s eyes, in all the eyes of the remaining captains in Dover, had Laurence taking another deep swallow.

There was a tap at his door. An officer or one of his runners with a message. He hoped it wasn’t news of another French incursion, not now. He also hoped, and he winced at his own cowardice, that it wasn’t Jane. If she was seeking comfort or distraction, Laurence wasn’t sure he could give it, not with his mind so full of the dying and the empty. He heaved himself up anyway, making sure the robe was properly tucked about him. Another round of soft tapping began just as he reached for the handle. With a sigh Laurence swung open the door.

Tharkay was on the other side.

Relief made Laurence’s shoulders sag. “Oh, thank God.”

The words escaped on a soft puff of air before Laurence could stop them. He clamped his lips shut and cleared his throat.  

Tharkay for his part looked as calm as ever. “Have I disturbed you?”

“Only from disturbing thoughts, and I would rather not be alone with them at the moment. Please, come in.”

The second chair now had an occupant, making the piece of furniture far less intimidating as Laurence’s sodden mind had first made it to be. Tharkay sat back, gazing at the fire, while Laurence filled him a glass. He said nothing as he took the brandy and only sipped politely. Laurence sank back into his chair and rested his head against the old cushions. For a moment, the pops and cracks of the flames seemed merrier, rather like a fire one would look forward to on a cold winter’s night.

But the moment, as all moments, only lasted a brief time.

Laurence allowed himself another deep breath before saying. “I take it you are not here for a mere courtesy call.”

“Unfortunately, I am not. I am, however, leaving early tomorrow.” 

“Have the other aviators been quarrelsome? Have they said anything foul?” Laurence felt heat coiling in his chest, and he was sure it wasn’t from the brandy. If anyone had been spreading slander about Tharkay—

“No, no. Unless you count them calling me Mr. Merlin or magic man a particular insult.” The corner of Tharkay’s lips twitched upwards. “I think they may have been a bit disappointed that I lacked a long white beard, pointed hat, and magic staff.”

“But no one has been unkind?”

“They are all too drowning in their grief to be cruel to an interloper like myself.”

Laurence frowned. “You are not—”

Tharkay held up a hand. “I have lived too long on the road to remain in a single place and feel comfortable doing so. And I have a feeling if I volunteer my services as translator and, well, keeper for the ferals I may never leave this island country again.”

“And England holds few good memories for you.” Laurence sighed. “So, it is back to the mountains.”

“Yes and no.”

“How do you mean?”

Tharkay pulled an enveloped from inside his coat. “Your admiral has given me a commission; I am to return to the Pamirs and neighboring mountains and try to recruit more ferals. So yes, I will be leaving, but I will be returning soon enough and likely with another pack of rowdy dragons at my heels.”

And the winter would be bleaker for his absence. Laurence took another long sip.

“It is a long way back to the mountains.” He sighed.

“You would be surprised how quickly one can travel when one doesn’t have to look after a crew of lost aviators, a dragon and a captain that court danger like an overzealous suitor.” 

“I do not court danger; I just often find myself at similar social gatherings with it and am forced by conventional politeness to ask it to dance.” Laurence looked at his nearly empty glass. “There is a difference.”

Tharkay snorted. “Next time remember to be a bit less accommodating.”

“I will endeavor to do so until your return.” He looked at Tharkay, his edges were somewhat fuzzy. “You will return, will you not?”

“I did say I would be bringing back another batch of ferals. Or, at least, attempting to.”

“No, I meant afterwards. Will you go rushing off again?”

Tharkay stared at him. “I do not know. It has been a long time since I’ve had any notion of what direction my life will take.”

“I hope that…while you consider your course you might stay for a time with the Corps. I know you do not wish to permanently take on the roll of translator, but you would be welcomed here. And I would be grateful for your, ah, insight, and…and,” his mind stuttered, there were too many thoughts trying to get out at once. He moved his gaze to the bottle. “would you like another drink?”

Tharkay set his glass down, still almost full, keeping his gaze pointedly averted. “I think I had better abstain from any more drink tonight. I want all my faculties when I leave, and it might not be the best thing for our friendship if we remain in a room together with an adequate supply of alcohol. Based on prior experience.”

Laurence felt heat crawl up his neck. He all too well remembered that experience. Against his better judgment, his eyes flicked to the narrow bed in the corner. The rooms on either side were empty; it would be nice not to be alone with only thoughts of illness and slow death to occupy his mind. Perhaps once—

Drenched with alcohol though it was, some still-functioning part of Laurence’s mind slammed a heavy door against the thought. No. They were friends, merely friends. And Laurence was satisfied with that. He was. It was the damn liquor that was cutting his brain off from his body. He set down his own glass. It was clear he’d had more than enough to drink tonight.

“You are right, of course.” Laurence rose. Tharkay did the same. “It would do no good to let past decisions…influence our current ones, and—wait, have you told Temeraire you are leaving?”

“No, not yet. I thought it best that this time around I approach you first.”

“You will have an even harder time of it the second go-round.” Laurence shook his head; he clung to the sudden and safer conversation topic. “He will be hard to convince of the necessity of your departure.”

“Should I perhaps leave without seeing him?”

“No.” Laurence was surprised at the firmness of his voice. But then he remembered waking up alone in an empty bed. “No, do not do that.”

Tharkay arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean: do not do that _again_?”

“I…I mean,”

“I know I did not make the most graceful exit all those years ago. I thought it best to…I just thought it best. Youths are not the most adroit decision makers.” Tharkay met Laurence’s eye briefly before glancing away. “I would like to apologize for that.”

Some small, long ago scraped part of Laurence’s conscience warmed at those words. “As you said, young people are not the best at determining their paths.”

He opened the door, and Tharkay stepped out into the hallway. The chill of the corridor jabbed into the room. Tharkay turned back, a small smile at the corner of his lips.

He held out his hand. “Well, wish me luck.”

“It is a long journey after all.”

“Oh no, I meant with my goodbyes to Temeraire.”

Laurence smiled as he clasped Tharkay’s hand in his. “He will miss you terribly. I did warn you about a dragon’s affection.”

“Yet I find I do not regret the decision. I will miss him as well, even when he is being particularly prying.”

Laurence realized that while they were still holding hands, neither of them had actually bothered with the necessary shaking motion. He found he didn’t want to complete the gesture, because that would truly mean a farewell.  And then they would be parted; Tharkay back to the wilds, and Laurence back to bearing the weight of a country on his and Temeraire’s shoulders. He did not want to let go.

There was a creak from the distant stairwell. They both started and hastily began the actual shaking of hands bit.

Laurence cleared his throat. “I wish you luck, Mr. Tharkay, on all your endeavors. I hope you return to us safe and soon.”

 “Stay safe, Laurence.” Tharkay nodded and turned away.

His footsteps echoed through the corridor and down the stairs, there might even have been a slight thud of a door opening and closing. Laurence wasn’t tracking the sounds; it was only that he couldn’t quite bring himself to return to his once again empty room, and, despite the creeping cold, he lingered for another moment or so before finally turning in. He didn’t spare a glance to his empty glass or the empty chairs. Laurence climbed into bed, robe still on, curled under the covers and, before he could even fret over not getting enough sleep, slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Dover was ablaze. Laurence was aware of this. But, the heat, the smoke, the shouts, it was all so distant. A heavy curtain of grey had rolled in around him since the sinking of the _Goliath_. Laurence was certain the flames hadn’t reached the house in which he was kept; at least, they hadn’t reached his attic room.

He turned his head in the direction of the door. Perhaps he could break it down. It was unlikely his guards had remained. They’d been reluctant enough and now, with the city burning, were likely lending their services to some better cause than guarding a traitor. He could break it down, leave, perhaps find Temeraire. But as soon as the small flame of inclination sparked to life, the cold grey blew it out.

Laurence returned to his pacing. Time passed.

The handle rattled. The door opened. It was Tharkay.

He stepped into the room, casting a glance about before setting his stare upon Laurence. “We had better be elsewhere.”

Laurence shook his head. “I cannot. I am a traitor.”

“I am aware. I believe most of Britain is aware. Perhaps there are a few hermits living on the most remote of the Hebrides that have yet to hear the news.”

“I cannot leave with you. I must—”

“You must be taken to Admiral Roland for orders. Temeraire is needed to face the invasion. And you are needed to convince Temeraire to do so. I have the authority to take you.” As he spoke Tharkay slowly walked towards Laurence. He stopped a short distance before him, his eyes searching for something. “Laurence, where are you?”

“Dover. In someone’s attic.”

Tharkay shook his head but said nothing. He gestured for Laurence to go. Laurence went because what else was there for him to do? The grey was becoming denser. Even Tharkay was only a vague figure in the mists. Laurence went with him out of the smoky room and into the day.

The outside world wasn’t blazing so much as smoldering. No one stopped their progress through town; there wasn’t anyone _to_ stop them. Tharkay led him to a small clearing where Gherni waited. The little china-blue and white feral was twitchy, her eyes darting skyward every few seconds. Tharkay crooned something to her as Laurence mechanically put on the spare set of carabiners. They were off within a matter of minutes.

Neither spoke as the wind whipped past them. Laurence wasn’t sure how Tharkay saw him. A villain? A fool? A traitor? That last was not in question. He _was_ a traitor. So why was there still a part of him, a part that the grey had yet to enclose, that stung to think that Tharkay saw him as such?

They were in the air for some time when Gherni dived sharply and nearly scraped them off in her efforts to plunge into the trees. A French patrol was ahead, and nothing would get the little feral out from where she’d firmly wedged herself amidst the foliage before they were gone. There was nothing to it but to wait them out.

Laurence didn’t want to wait. Waiting meant more time for his thoughts to circle into tighter and tighter rings. Waiting meant the grey would grow thicker, and he still wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to or not. He needed his senses alert, yet he wished he were blind to what was occurring in the world around him. England was burning, and it was his doing.

“Is there any point in asking you why you returned?” Tharkay’s voice was flat.

Laurence’s words came automatically. “I committed a treasonous act; I had to stand trial.”

“I rather think the government that was so eager to charge you were the ones to commit treason. Treason against life, morality and just common decency.”

“That is not…” Laurence sighed. “I know what they did was horrendous. But I still went against orders.”

“The rest of the world would have stood with you, once word had gotten out. The Admiralty wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on, much less kick you with, when the scorn of millions turned against them. You need not have come back.”

“I made my choice; I returned to face the consequences of my actions.”

Tharkay crossed his arms. “Whether you returned of your own volition or flew off to live somewhere…well just to _live_ in general, doesn’t matter. You still betrayed your country in order to stop their crime. Why die for their sins as well?”

“I still have my honor, for what little it is valued.”

“Honor?” The word was frigid, and its chillness momentarily parted the grey to show Tharkay glaring at him.

Laurence felt the cold but still grasped that slim string. “Yes. Honor.”

“Hmm, how does that line go? Ah, yes.” Tharkay’s voice suddenly took on an elegant tone. “ _Honor pricks on me. Yea, but how if honor prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honor? A word. What is that word ‘honor’? What is that ‘Honor’? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ‘Tis insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why?  Detraction will not suffer it—”*_

“And therefore, you’ll have none of it?” Laurence sighed. “And so ends your catechism. I did not realize you were a follower of Falstaff’s line of thought.”

“Honor is all well and good and necessary. But when you clasp too tightly to it that you refuse to grab hold of anything else that might stop your fall then it truly does become ‘a mere scutcheon’. I’d rather it not be yours.”

“What should I do, then?”

Tharkay looked off into the woods. “There is still enough left of the world that not all of it is set with either Britain or its enemies. There are still people and places that would welcome a man like you.”

“And what kind of man am I?” Laurence asked, the grey was beginning to creep in again. “I have lost the plot as far as that topic is concerned.”

“Would you listen to me if I told you the answer?” Tharkay turned back to him. “Because I have a notion that you are rather far away at this time; I don’t think you would hear me. And I am not certain how to draw you back in.”

Laurence shrugged. “Perhaps part of me went down with the _Goliath_.”

“No. You are better than that at surviving wrecks. You are adrift. I just hope you find your way back before too long.”

Laurence said nothing, his strength for speech seemed to have been used up entirely. Tharkay did not elaborate. And so, silence followed, and the grey engulfed him again.

It was another hour before they took to the air again. Each wingbeat of Gherni’s brought him closer to the encampment, closer to Temeraire, and closer to his inevitable demise.

***

Iskierka’s wingbeats were rapid, her breathing labored. Stealth was not an option when the whole of the French army knew they’d escaped from London. Speed would be their only savior; reprieve would not come for miles yet. The wind cut into them as they huddled together in the Kazilik’s cupped talons, a poor excuse for a rescue as they were. The rest of Granby’s crew would remain imprisoned.

Laurence could hear the others murmuring, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus. He could not look away from his clenched hand, stained with dried blood that was not his own, though part of him wished it were. 

Beside him, Tharkay shifted. He made to reach for Laurence’s fist.

“No.” Laurence jerked his hand away. “No, it…”

Tharkay pried his fingers loose and tilted his hand so Woolvey’s ring fell into a waiting handkerchief. He bundled the cloth around the ring then knotted it and handed it back to Laurence.

***

Wellesley’s orders were given. The others of the formation made their choices. The grey grew thicker.

Laurence couldn’t precisely recall the weeks that followed. Everything was so muffled, so foggy. He was aware of Temeraire by his side most evenings; what they spoke of, Laurence did not know. He was aware of the remnants of his crew scattered about him. He was aware of the other dragons and captains; Granby would sometimes approach him. But in the end, it all faded. Even the blood of the French soldiers was dulled. The cries of the French dragons were mere echoes.

The grey was almost a comfort now. Laurence could be numb in it. If it would only stay with him until the end, until those final moments when he would need it the most. He could pass on with the façade of peace, if only the grey would stay.

And pass on he would. There was no denying his fate now. With each soldier he cut down he was another step closer to the gallows. Laurence would do this last task for his country. Then his country would see him finally hang. Both for his crimes and its own.

The days blurred now, only fractured moments managing to occasionally pierce through the gloom.

The grey was at its thickest yet. Laurence was aware of the outline of the barn in which he stayed; he was aware of the rough-hewn bench and table on which he sat and reviewed his orders. He just couldn’t see any details beyond the haze, couldn’t hear much either. So Tharkay’s entrance almost made Laurence jump.

Even he was obscured by the grey.

Tharkay handed Laurence a letter from Wellesley, more orders. Tharkay and the ferals were to join their group.  

Laurence nodded as he forced himself to read the letter. “Very well, I think we may have you form a small formation with Berkley and Max—"

“No.”

The word cut through the grey, leaving a vapor trail. Laurence looked up, blinking.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“I will not be a part of this. To veer towards a habit of savagery would only confirm my faults in the eyes of those who would judge me from afar. That is something I can ill afford, much as I disdain the majority of society.” Tharkay took a slow step forward. “Will, what are you doing?”

Laurence stared. Then the words left his mouth of their own volition. “Killing soldiers.”

The tears ran down his cheeks of their own volition too. Laurence meant to say more but a shuddering intake of breath had him clapping a hand over his mouth. He tried to steady himself, tried to blink away the increasingly blurry world before him. The pain was there, just on the edge of the grey, and he couldn’t let it get to him. Not yet. Not—

His other hand was pulled into a tight grip. Laurence glanced down and, through thickening tears, saw the tan, callused fingers intertwining themselves with his own. They squeezed. The pressure was enough.

Laurence didn’t sob; the only sounds that escaped from behind his hand were gasps. But his whole body shook, trembling in the gale that would either wash him ashore or drown him in the depths. And all the while he held on to that other hand, his lifeline. The pain cut through the grey; it blew the fog into nothing but tattered wisps. The ache was necessary, Laurence realized, it was a lancing of a boil. It was meant to drain away the poison. So he let it roll over him, the tears and gasps escaping all the while.

Slowly, the squall blew itself out, the waters settled. Laurence uncovered his mouth once he was sure he could breathe again without sounding like a bellows. He stared down at the dirt floor of the barn. There was straw scattered everywhere; he hadn’t noticed before. And there was an old tang of long-gone horses, and the sounds of the camp outside were filtering in through the walls.

And there was a hand still gripping his.

Laurence refused to look up, but he didn’t fight as he felt his hand being lifted.

Skin scarred from two different lives brushed against his cheek; Tharkay was using their clasped hands to wipe away the tears.

The gesture made Laurence want to weep again, if only for feeling so full of light after so long in the dark. Instead he tightened his grip. Tharkay knelt before him and peered into Laurence’s eyes. After a moment his gaze softened.

“There you are.” An almost-smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Laurence said nothing, only held on. They remained thus for a few moments more, letting Laurence’s senses long deadened bloom back to life.  But the world and all its weight lay just outside, and the barn walls couldn’t keep it at bay for long. With one more deep breath, Laurence nodded. Tharkay rose, pulling him along.

“You once said there were places in the world where one need not be pulled asunder by two opposing forces.”

Tharkay nodded. “And where the authority a man answers to need only be his own conscience.”

“That sounds…terrifying. And, perhaps a bit relieving.”

“To each their own. One could find a middle ground that suited them well enough.”

“If one lives long enough to journey to said places.” Laurence stared down at their hands.

Tharkay’s thumb was rubbing against the back of Laurence’s hand. “You will.”

“You have no certainty.”

“I have faith.”

Laurence looked up at Tharkay, eyebrow raised. “Faith?”

“That William Laurence will defy any force put upon him, whether he intends to or not, simply by being William Laurence.” That almost-smile grew into a genuine one.

The words melted along Laurence’s spine and allowed him to square his shoulders. “Very well.”

He let go of Tharkay’s hand and walked towards the doorway; he didn’t look back at the orders he’d left on the table.

***

The half circle of men glared at him. Laurence was aware that some sort of response was necessary. The courtroom, if one could call it that, was a large study of some manor borrowed by the military until order could be restored in London. Instead of the stern seats of judge and jury, the men before him were cushioned on rather plush armchairs, one of them even had his boots propped upon a footstool patterned in bright daisies. They looked at Laurence with grim, expectant faces.

Words seemed reluctant to climb their way up Laurence’s throat. He only bowed.

He was waved out of the room. Laurence had barely made it a few steps into the passage when someone called out to him.

Wellesley had followed him into the hall.

“I expect you are looking forward to your sentence now.” he said.

“I would accept any verdict handed down. I never denied that.”

“Hmm, perhaps a few months ago, but nearer the end I saw it.”

“Saw what, sir?” Laurence asked.

“The Will of the Survivor. That beady gleam that says ‘whether the rest of me likes it or not, I shall see my way out of this’. It is what keeps rats from drowning on sinking ships, I am told.” Wellesley tilted his head. “You are no rat, Laurence. But by God have you been dragged through the scum and muck of infamy. I am not entirely sure what creature you are. Perhaps in time that mire will wash off you, and we will all be witness to your reveal. Then again, perhaps not. Australia is a strange and desolate place.”

“Sir.” Laurence couldn’t think of what else to say. Clarks and officers hustled pass; the bustle of British rule reasserting itself echoed around them.

“Well, Mr. Laurence?” Wellesley fixed him with a scrutinizing look. “What are you still doing here? You have less than a fortnight to prepare. The _Allegiance_ will take you along with the latest batch of miscreants to that sunbaked spot near the bottom of the world. And may your chaos keep to the wilds of Australia. Go bother the kangaroos with it.”

Laurence only managed, “Sir.”

He gave a short bow and walked out of the house. And stumbled into the waiting claws of Temeraire.

 “Well?” he asked, carefully cupping Lawrence and lifting him away. “What did they say?”

Laurence felt dizzy though not from being carried about by an anxious dragon. “Of the crime of treason there is no doubt. They still find me guilty.”

“After all we have done, they will still kill you? I won’t have it, Laurence! We shall—”

“The sentence is not execution, my dear.” Laurence reached out to lay a hand on Temeraire’s muzzle. “It is transportation. We are to be sent to the colony at New South Wales. Together.”

“They will not kill you?”

“They will not.”

“They will not separate us?”

“They will not.”

“Then the rest is more than bearable.” Temeraire sighed, settling down on his haunches and putting Laurence back on solid earth. “I do not care where they send us, so long as they send _us_.”

“It will be a long crossing. And from what I have heard, Australia is not the most hospitable of lands.” But Laurence couldn’t help the small smile from forming on his lips. They would not be parted.

***

The _Allegiance_ bobbed gently in the water as the two courier dragons gently set their precious cargo down upon the dragon deck. The eggs seemed so small next to Temeraire’s bulk. One was a simple yellow reaper, the other a rather disappointing result from a Parnassian and Chequered Nettle cross. The courier captains did not so much as glance Laurence’s way though their dragons nodded at Temeraire. They left in a rush of wings, and the spot they’d previously occupied was almost instantly taken up by Arkady. Tharkay was on his back with a bundle in his arms and a pack resting just behind him.

The man was no longer wearing an aviator’s coat, though neither had he taken up his rough apparel of guide and wanderer. He wore the clothes of a traveling gentleman, plain, practical and well made. For a moment Laurence thought he was looking at a long ago Tharkay. He blinked away the vision.

Tharkay slid off Arkady’s back, and, with what sounded like strict instructions from the feral leader, gently unwound the cloth and set a third egg down with the others. Arkady looked over the dragon deck with a censorious eye then proceeded to deluge Temeraire with rapid Durzagh.

“That is his own egg.” Tharkay said, coming to stand beside Laurence. He set the pack down at his feet. “The scoundrel has gotten it into his head that some filthy rich aviator will be its captain. It is probably best not to mention that affluent aviators may be in short supply on a prison colony.”

“And for yourself? Are you planning another journey? Back to the mountains?” Laurence felt a pang at the thought of Tharkay beings swallowed into the vast continent of Asia once again.

“Well, I have heard there are a few decent ranges in Australia.”

Laurence seemed to forget how to form words for a moment. Thankfully Temeraire had caught Tharkay’s pronouncement.

“You are coming with us to New South Wales?” He asked, his ruff twitching in excitement. Arkady huffed at being interrupted.

Tharkay nodded. “As I have said before: I am used to a certain amount of wandering in my life. And currently the route back to Asia is a bit…turbulent at the moment, what with both Europe and Africa in a somewhat excited state. So I thought why not travel some place new?”

“The _Allegiance_ is playing the role of prison transport.” Laurence said once he’d found his voice. “I doubt it will be the most comfortable of journeys.”

“I am a guest of Captain Riley’s. And I will have Temeraire to keep company with. You may of course join us if you wish.”

Laurence felt his lips twitch. “Of course, if I can find the time.”

“The journey will be ever so much more enjoyable now that you are coming, Tharkay.” Temeraire chimed in once Arkady had finished delivering his strict instructions and flown off.

Tharkay smirked. “Perhaps you will change your mind after several months of monotonous travel.”

“Indeed, this will be a much longer voyage than just a Channel crossing.” Laurence said, staring out at the horizon. “And far more dangerous. Are you certain you wish to go?”

“Yes. Besides, I was once told it is useful to have a man aboard with experience in surviving shipwrecks.”

“I was told it was wise to avoid such men; their bad luck may attach itself to those around him.”

“Maybe his luck is set to turn soon.” Tharkay’s expression was as placid as ever when Laurence turned to him.

“I do not—”

“Tenzing.”

Laurence blinked. “Pardon?”

“It is my name.”

“I already know your name.”

Tharkay’s lips twitched. “I never told you my given name.”

Laurence frowned, thinking back. Their first meeting: he’d only said Tharkay. Their reunion: again, he’d only been known as Tharkay. Always it was just Tharkay. “You mean to tell me that in all this time and across half the world I’ve only ever known you by your surname?”

No, surely that wasn’t true. The thought that Tharkay had a first name hadn’t even occurred to Laurence; he was always Tharkay, constant in his inconsistencies and loyal in a roundabout way. _Tenzing_ Tharkay almost seemed like an entirely different person. Tenzing.

“If it is some balm, I’ve rarely given my name to anyone.” Tharkay said after Laurence had simply blinked at him for several minutes.

“Tenzing.” Laurence let the name sit on his tongue. He liked it. He liked how the sound of it vibrated against his teeth, like the buzz of the first honeybees of spring flying from flower to flower. “Tenzing.”

It could have been the glare of sunlight off the water that made him see it, but Laurence was certain a small smile tugged at the corner of Tharkay’s mouth when Laurence had said his name. “And you are Will.”

 They both turned to look out over the harbor. Soon the _Allegiance_ would make her way out of the safe embrace of England’s waters and into the lesser known oceans about Australia. Soon Laurence would have to settle for the cramped monotony of being a prisoner aboard a ship and among a crew that was no longer welcoming. Soon the enormity of the change he and Temeraire were about to face might come crashing down around his head. But for now, there was only sunlight, water and wind. The currents would carry them onwards, to friendly or foul shores Laurence knew not, but carry on they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shakespeare. Henry IV Part 1. Act 5. Sc.2. lines 131-142   
> Probably not a proper citation but it'll do. And that's it for now. I'm looking forward to working on Tongue of Serpents after a short break. Let me know if there are any major spelling/grammar errors I may have missed. Thanks.


	4. Chapter 3. Land Down Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who wander might still remain lost. And denial is not a river in Egypt, or Australia for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to publish this chapter by the end of September!  
> Life: Haha nope.  
> Me: This chapter will be a concise 7000 to 8000 words.  
> Brain: Haha nope. Also, we're putting a kookaburra somewhere in here.  
> Me:...why?  
> Sorry for the wait but life is gonna life. And sorry if the story seems choppier than usual. But onward we go!

Upon quick reflection, Laurence realized that Tharkay had another, entirely practical, reason to avoid sea travel. And as he watched the man dry heaving into a bucket, Laurence could understand why his companion had chosen only to risk a day long crossing of the Channel as his only experience with staying aboard ships. This was only their third day into the journey; the first day Tharkay had seemed relatively fine, if he had still yet to gain his sea legs, but apparently in the early hours of the second day the illness that struck most newcomers of ocean voyages caught up to him. Laurence had arrived at breakfast to see to Tharkay’s skin not only pale but tinged slightly green. The man himself had refused any food and had hovered close to the railing of the dragon deck. Laurence was reminded of a certain Chinese diplomat whose own troubles with seasickness had been quite incapacitating for a good third of that seemingly long-ago journey. He hoped Tharkay’s troubles would ease sooner than that.

Another loud heave drew Laurence from his thoughts. Tharkay was slouched on his bed dressed only in trousers and a loose shirt that was clinging to his damp back. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his hair hung limp about his face. Laurence felt dual pangs of worry and disbelief at the sight. It seemed impossible that a man of Tharkay’s capabilities should be brought so low over something as simple as seasickness.

Tharkay groaned and, yielding to the pull of gravity, flopped sideways onto his bed. From his seat on the only chair in the little room, Laurence reached over and brushed a few wayward strands of hair from his friend’s face. Two slightly bloodshot eyes stared balefully back at him.

“It appears that in the process of forcing my stomach out through my throat I have forgotten why I chose to undertake this journey.” Tharkay croaked.

“I could not tell you. Your reasons are your own. But I promise this will not last.”

“And then I suppose I have the other joys of sea travel to look forward to. Remind me again of them. Scurvy? Rats? Storms? Sea serpents? There are at least fewer pirates about, yes?”

Laurence smiled slightly. “Hardly any, I assure you. Do you still have a knife in your boot?”

“I am not particularly inclined to check at the moment, or any other moment in the foreseeable future.” Tharkay groaned and turned over, his soaked shirt now like a second skin.

Leaning over the prone figure, Laurence gently tugged at the dank cloth. “You should have this off, it does your recovery no favors. Come along now, I did not realize you could be so childish when ill.”

He received a rude hand gesture for his cajoling, and Tharkay did little to help him ease the garment off. After a few moments of struggling and huffs of exasperation, Laurence had a shirtless and, if possible, even more irritable Tharkay. The other man curled in on himself somewhat, still facing away from Laurence.

Tharkay’s skin goose-pimpled in the air of the cabin. The notion that flew through his mind had Laurence placing a hand between the other man’s shoulder blades before his higher reason could catch it. The body beneath his hand stiffened somewhat, but Laurence only rubbed his thumb in slow soothing circles.

Tharkay made no move to stop him, only sighed. “Lord, but I dislike being so out of sorts.”

“I doubt that there is anyone fond of being ill. But I can assure you that I do not think less of you for it.”

“Thank you, Will”

The words were weary and frank, not coated in the placid or sarcastic tones Tharkay usually employed. There was a pause, but only the comforting creak of the _Allegiance_ filled it. Tharkay merely settled further into his narrow bunk. It seemed that he’d used up the last of his conversation on that simple statement of gratitude.

Laurence continued to run his hand soothingly across the clammy skin. “Tomorrow we shall try plain biscuits, and John has managed to find a bottle of light wine. You shall soon have your wits about you, Tenzing, and your stomach as well. Rest now.”

Tharkay said nothing, but Laurence could feel the muscles beneath his hand slowly relaxing, breath coming slower. Within a matter of moments Tharkay was asleep.

***

The wind was brisk but not cuttingly cold, and between the warmth given off from Temeraire’s and Iskierka’s bodies, even if the latter tended to steam, the dragon deck was easily the most comfortable place on the _Allegiance_. Although, considering the great dragon vessel had designated a good portion of its bulk to the transportation of several hundred cramped, under-exercised and extremely ill-smelling prisoners, the large fan shaped deck had little in the way of competition. So yes, while one had to contended with the wind, it was much preferred to stay out in the open. At least until the daily walks commenced.

Laurence did his best to focus on the book he’d been reading to Temeraire and not on the first batch of convicts emerging from the gaol. He knew this was the only form of activity these men and women were allowed on the journey, and the few laps around quarter deck seemed hardly a reprieve from the dark and clustered conditions below. But part of him wished it were not in direct sight of the dragon deck. He had briefly entertained the notion of ducking behind Temeraire, but then they would only call out and that would upset the dragon even more.

“I have half a mind to throw a buckle at one of their heads.” Granby growled as one of the emerging convicts flashed Laurence a filthy hand gestured. The guards on duty did nothing to admonish the man.

“Do not waste equipment, John.” Although Laurence thought that one of the enormous gold buttons on Granby’s coat would be enough to knock some manners, via a severe concussion, into anyone.

“Perhaps we could dunk them.” Iskierka sighed, shifting her many coils. “Then they might smell a bit better.”

Granby shook his head. “There is not enough salt water in the ocean, dearest. You do not have to take this harassment, Laurence. We would understand if you wanted to remain in your quarters and return later.”

Laurence could not tell him that his small, dank room, not much better than the cells below, held little sanctuary for him. The smell, which managed to carry even to the dragon deck, was a fug in his quarters, nearly solid at times. And the grumblings and murmurs and moans from the goal would rise up from beneath his floorboards, nothing ever distinct but enough that one could never properly settle down. He was certain Temeraire knew about the state of his quarters; he often encouraged Laurence to sleep with him on the dragon deck when nights were at least halfway pleasant. And Tharkay knew, the man had stopped in on Laurence one evening a few days into the journey after he’d recovered from his bout of mal de mer. He had taken one look, or perhaps one sniff, and quietly invited Laurence to his rooms for a game of piquet, which had lasted well into the night and ended with Laurence bunking on the floor with a set of spare blankets. He invited Laurence most nights when he wasn’t staying on the dragon deck. Laurence was beginning to suspect Tharkay and Temeraire may have had words.

A low rumble beneath the warm hide on which Laurence leaned against forewarned him of an oncoming growl. Another prisoner had just spat in their direction, earning the already considerable ire of Temeraire. Laurence ran his fingers over scales in an attempt to soothe. He could not reprimand Temeraire out loud, that would only attract the unwanted attention of both convicts and guards; he’d learned early on that the two groups, while wary of each other, would eagerly join up in something of a game to see how far they could push both dragon and ex-captain. No, Laurence could only provide silent reassurances and weather through the walks as best he could. All things considered it was a benign castigation to endure.

A flurry of movement drew Laurence’s attention towards the far corner of the quarterdeck. Tharkay had appeared and was weaving his way through the shuffling prisoners. There was another, if more circuitous route he could have taken to reach the dragon deck, but Tharkay seemed unaffected by their presence. Both guards and inmates gave him a respectful distance. The guards because Tharkay was a guest of Captain Riley, and the inmates because they had learned early on in the voyage, in a lesson that had resulted in two concussions, a broken ankle and a dislocated shoulder, that confrontation would be best avoided with this particular individual.  

A warm frisson ran through Laurence’s chest as he watched Tharkay traverse the ship with ease. He had adapted to ship life quickly, barring those first handful of days. It had been oddly endearing to see Tharkay off his stride, Laurence had been beginning to think the man rather invincible. It had been something of a relief to see that Tharkay was, in fact, as mortal as everyone else.

With several bounding strides the man whose mortality was in question climbed to the dragon deck.

“I see the masses are in usual form today.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see a shackled woman spit in their direction. “All that time in the gaol yet they still cannot think of anything cleverer than a few hand gestures and flying saliva.”

Laurence shook his head. “I do not think this voyage needs several hundred prisoners plotting down below.”

“It may help them pass the hours.”

Granby snorted and gestured to Iskierka and Temeraire. “And it’s not like they’ll try anything. This might be the first prisoner transport where the last thing said prisoners want to do is break out of the gaol.”

“Oh,” Iskierka sighed, jetting out several small puffs of steam from her spikes. “it might add a bit of variety to this dull trip.”

“If you are looking for variety, might I suggest you try flying back to England?” Temeraire huffed, still glaring at the groups shambling along the quarterdeck. Laurence was beginning to worry that the dragon might approve of a jailbreak, if only as an excuse to toss the majority of the prisoners overboard. He glanced down, trying to remember where they had left off in their reading.

Tharkay tugged the book from Laurence’s hands. “Sir Edward Howe’s dragon legends of the Orient? Which story were you on, Temeraire?”

“Hmm? Oh, we were about to begin the legend of the man who became a dragon.” Temeraire looked away from the shuffling convicts and down at Tharkay as the man settled next to Laurence and Granby.

“Let us see if we can get Laurence to translate it into Chinese then. He is sorely in need of the practice.”

Dismay flashed briefly through Laurence, but it was quickly followed by relief. While tedious a language lesson may be, it would do well enough to distract both himself and Temeraire.

“I shall undoubtedly bungle my verbs.” He warned.

“Undoubtedly you shall.” Tharkay nodded, not glancing up from skimming through the pages. “But Temeraire and I are well equipped to set you right. Start here.”

Granby turned his gaze skyward, he, having eagerly left the schoolroom, or what passed for a schoolroom by the standards of the Corps, behind years ago, made even less progress in the lessons than Laurence. “How many more months left on this blasted odyssey?”

***

Flying was the one true freedom Laurence and Temeraire had been allowed to keep on the journey, and more often than not, it was a freedom for just the two of them. Temeraire would not leave the eggs without the guard of Roland, Demane, Sipho, and Granby. Iskierka, according to Temeraire, couldn’t be entirely trusted to their keeping. Laurence had decided not to point out that if the Kazilik had taken it into her head to abandon the eggs for a flight of fancy, Granby was sure to be dragged along thus leaving the precious cargo short one sentinel.

Tharkay would sometimes be asked to watch over the eggs, but more and more often, particularly as they were nearing the end of their travels, he was invited by Temeraire to join them on their short flights. Laurence did not begrudge this blatant show of preference; the long months had deepened the dragon’s affection towards the other man and Laurence likewise found the strain of the journey significantly easier to bear in Tharkay’s presence. So yes, Laurence was more than happy to share this bit of reprieve with him. And this particular outing should prove to be of even more interest, if Laurence had calculated their positions correctly.

“Laurence,” Temeraire called back. “That bit of horizon, is that land?”

Laurence smiled inwardly as he pulled out his spyglass, pointing it in the direction Temeraire had indicated. “Indeed. I wasn’t certain we would see it just yet, but yes that is Van Diemen’s Land.”

He handed the glass to Tharkay as Temeraire bugled out a joyous roar.

“I am sure I could reach it by nightfall.” He said as the air around them still quivered with echoes.

“Undoubtedly you could.” Tharkay said, still gazing at the distant land. “But I do not think Captain Riley would appreciate Laurence spending a night away from the _Allegiance_.”

“Oh, yes,” Temeraire sighed. “and there are the eggs to consider.”

Laurence patted his neck. “The _Allegiance_ will make landfall in little more than a day. Besides, Van Diemen’s Land will only be a resting place; it will be another week or so from there before we reach Sydney. Come, let us bring Riley back the good news.”

Temeraire looped about and flew back towards the distant dragon transport, though the pace was noticeably slower. Less than a half-hour later he landed and announced to more sighs of relief than cheers: “We have sighted Van Dieman’s Land.”

“Oh, might we go up and look, Granby?” Iskierka asked, uncoiling herself from around the eggs as Tharkay and Laurence climbed down from Temeraire. “I dare say I could make it there if Temeraire could not.”

“Yes, and should you feel the need to rest the night there instead of here, feel free to do so.” Temeraire nosed at the eggs. “And I could have made the flight there, only I did not wish to get Laurence into trouble.”

Iskierka snorted. “Trouble for arriving early at a prison colony where he will be staying as a prisoner? If anything, it will save the ship’s crew the hassle of having to deal with you for several more days.”

In an effort to curtail a response, Laurence called out. “My dear, might you be so good as to crouch down a bit? I am a bit concerned about wear on your left shoulder strap. Let us have the harness off.”

With Temeraire distracted over the state of his harness, Laurence turned towards Tharkay. “Only a few more days now.”

“I would not be so eager. You have become well acquainted with the vices and tribulations of the many members of this voyage. Van Dieman’s land and New South Wales host an entirely new cast of adversaries.”

“Please stop sounding so foreboding. Coming from you, those words have an air of prophecy to them.”

***

Laurence should have surmised that Bligh would bring complications with him from the moment the man had boarded the ship. That calculating glimmer in his eye as he scrutinized Temeraire should have been justification enough for Laurence to lock himself away in his cabin for the remainder of the voyage. Unfortunately, manners that had been hammered into him since he had been in the cradle had made it necessary to join the outcast governor for dinner in Riley’s quarters. Laurence had rarely felt the need for coffee to be served early, but he was ready for the reprieve after only the first course.

“A pity Bligh got on so poorly with the colony.” Tharkay smirked, handing Laurence a glass of brandy. Laurence had escaped to his cabin when Bligh had been distracted. “His manners seem to match those of the majority of the other inhabitants, from what I have heard described of New South Wales.”

Laurence sighed. “A simple service of labor and looking after the eggs would have been far too simple, even, dare I say it, almost a reprieve; reversing a coup, justified or not, sounds more appropriate for Temeraire and I. Given our…”

“Infamy? Ignominy? Arrest warrants?”

“I was thinking along the lines of past experiences, but yes, those are uncomfortably appropriate.”

Tharkay chuckled as he sat down on his bed. “A plain sentence of work would be too tame for you. Within a few weeks I would expect you and Temeraire to be haring off into the wilderness, driven there from sheer tedium. At least now you have something new to fret over.”

“It may surprise you to know I am not fond of fretting.”

“Perhaps you should remind yourself of that when you begin to fret.”

“And if monotony is such a concern of yours,” Laurence decided to redirect the discussion; Tharkay, while an excellent conversationalist, seemed to enjoy boiling down their chats to school yard word play. “what, may I ask, is your own plan to stave off boredom?”

This wasn’t entirely an idle question. Laurence had for some time suspected that Tharkay had another reason for journeying to New South Wales. He must have a reason, otherwise he would have thrown away the course of his life simply to follow Laurence. And Laurence wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. There was a bit of guilt, a bit of confusion, but more and more there was a soft, warm buzz in his chest that tended to clash with the other emotions. All in all, if he thought too hard about why Tharkay had come, he would end up with an upset stomach and a need to pace the length of the ship over and over. But Laurence would not push Tharkay for answers. He could broach the subject, but if the man wished to keep his reasons to himself, Laurence would be the last person to press. Even if the lack of explanation sometimes kept Laurence up at night trying to see clues in the woodwork of the nearest wall.

“I am certain something will arise.” Tharkay sighed. “One never has to look far or wait long for adventure with you and Temeraire in the vicinity.”

 Laurence snorted but nursed his brandy in silence, enjoying his momentary peace. He was not sure how many more moments of peace he would have once they arrived. So much of this journey would have been near unbearable were it not for Tharkay. Laurence owed him so many evenings of card games for distraction or silent company for reflection. When they disembarked at Sydney, would those reprieves dwindle away?

Laurence glanced back at Tharkay; the other man was leaning back in his bunk, eyes shut and limbs relaxed. He was humming. His head was angled just so that a swath of golden-brown neck was visible.

The feeling had two starting points: Laurence’s chest and his gut. It was warm but aching. It reminded him a bit of hunger. Yet hunger never felt so content, like he could feast or fast without feeling forced to do either. Tharkay shifted, exposing more skin. Laurence felt his mouth begin to water; he swallowed hard.

The knock had Laurence half jolting out of his seat. Tharkay merely opened his eyes.

“Come in.” he called.

Granby poked his head in through the open door. “Shall I start with the poor news first?”

“Will the good news be enough to balance it?” Tharkay asked.

“Ah right, here is the…poorer news: there isn’t really any good news to be had.”

Laurence sighed. “Bligh is staying on then?”

“Sticking to this ship like…what are those things they scrape off the hull?”

“Barnacle?”

“Yes, that’s it. Ah thank you, Tharkay.” He took the offered glass of brandy and leaned against the nearest wall. “You’ll have a time of it, Will, handling him. At least I have the excuse of heaving-to once this ship has seen its share of repairs. Thank heaven for small mercies; that man seemed almost to be frothing at the mouth when he’d heard Iskierka was a firebreather. I wouldn’t put it past him to raze half of Sydney.”

“Which half?” Tharkay asked. “I want to know where I should avoid setting up lodgings.”

“Flying off into the interior is becoming more and more appealing.” Laurence pinched the bridge of his nose.

Granby tilted his head. “Perhaps we should toss him into a jolly boat and drop it over the side?”

“That will just make him angry. Even the sea does not care for the taste of him.”

Tharkay tapped a finger against his glass. “He has been mutinied against before, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“Hmm, at some point Bligh must surely ask himself where the root of discord truly resides.”

Laurence turned his stare to the weathered planks of the ceiling. “I doubt that man would surmise the problem even if he were shut in a room full of mirrors.”

***

“How?” Granby groaned as he slowly wound a bandage around a cut on his upper arm. “How do you manage it, Tharkay?”

Tharkay did not look up from binding Laurence’s chest. “I am rather proficient at managing many tasks, you will have to be more specific. Will, hold this in place for a moment.”

They had retreated to Tharkay’s rooms in the one respectable inn to lick their wounds. A single visit to one of the settlement’s many pubs, if the glorified drinking troughs could even be called that, had convinced Laurence that libations would be best enjoyed in private.

Granby waved vaguely at Tharkay then grimaced. “Laurence and I look like we lost a fight with a cliff face. You came out of that damned bar with barely a bloodied hand.”

“All the better to assist in patching the two of you back together.” Tharkay tugged at Laurence’s bandages to make certain they were secure then fixed him with a look. “I suppose I should be grateful it wasn’t a mountain this time, but I have no wish to make a habit of this.”

Laurence nodded. “You may be sure I will fully accept a scolding should a third occasion arise.”

“And you may be sure that I will have Temeraire in my corner. As to answer your question, Granby,” Tharkay turned to tie up Granby’s dressings. “I have, over the years, learned that sometimes it is propitious to momentarily set aside the habits of a learned gentleman and apply more common methods of confrontation.”

“Meaning?” Granby asked.

“A kick below the belt does wonders for one’s health. Particularly if said health is being threatened by the person receiving the kick.”

Granby snorted then hissed in pain as he pulled his shirt sleeve over his bandage. Laurence couldn’t stop a similar grimace as he tugged his own shirt back on. They were a sight, the three of them. Well, Laurence and Granby were. And if this was what he was to expect whenever he meant to venture in to town, Laurence was quite convinced that staying aboard the _Allegiance_ , as confining and tedious as it had been on the long journey to the colony, would be a much more preferable option. If only it could remain an option.

Tharkay tossed them their coats. “I believe I have played the role of nursemaid long enough. The two of you ought to return to the promontory.”

“Before all that’s left of this piss pot of a colony is the promontory. Mind you, it would be a vast improvement.” Granby heaved himself off his chair and not so much walked as leaned to one side and let his momentum carry him to the door.

Laurence struggled into his own coat, his ribs scolding him for it. All the aches and pains and for what? He wasn’t any closer in choosing a side or finding a way to avoid said choice. The precarious line he and Temeraire balanced on might vanish altogether. He couldn’t keep Bligh off forever, he would be lucky if he could avoid the man for another day. And he was certain the leaders of the Rum Corps would step in soon. They would undoubtedly have an interest in a dragon that could level anything in his path with a single roar. If only to ensure the dragon in question wasn’t facing in their direction.

Tharkay held out a hand. “There is always another way, Will. Remember the entire world is never split between just two sides; there is just too much of it.”

Laurence allowed himself to be tugged into a relative upright stance. “Perhaps not the whole world. But it is enough that this small corner of it feels the need to be divided. And I do not see much chance of Temeraire and I being able to leave this small corner behind in the near future.”

***

Tharkay arrived in his normal way: appearing near Temeraire without anyone having seen his approach. Laurence had grown so used to the other man’s habit of popping up unannounced that he scarcely twitched. Instead, he joined Tharkay in quietly watching as the convicts were prodded into the belly rigging.  

“I believe you had said something about haring off into the country’s interior within a few weeks of our arrival?”

“Well,” Tharkay raised an eyebrow as the prisoners squawked like a bunch of hens being thrown into a rucksack. “between ferrying around nearly three dozen men who need to be constantly half-drunk and working alongside the dregs of the Corps, the majority of whom would gladly see you hang, one cannot say this expedition will lack in entertainment.”

“I believe you and I need to come to some sort of agreement as to the definition of ‘entertainment’.” Laurence sighed. “Still, I would rather take our chances in the Blue Mountains than stay another day in Sydney.”

“Shame, I was beginning to make a study of the local wildlife.”

“Pardon?”

“So far I have seen two types of wall crawling lizards and three species of spiders; one of them a size larger than my hand.”

Laurence shot Tharkay a puzzled look. “That seems a rather small menagerie given how long we have been here.”

“Oh no, when I say local wildlife, I mean the other denizens of the room I have been staying in. I have thought about having a word with the inn owner, but the little creatures were there first, who am I to evict them.”

“Tenzing, do you ever fear you might become a bit too blasé about what goes on around you?”

Tharkay shrugged. “Once you realize life is set about to surprise you then you rarely ever are surprised, at least by the little things.”

“Your school of thought would be a hard institute to attend.” Laurence sighed.

“Indeed, you would be a poor pupil. A memorable one though.”

Laurence very much wanted to ask in what way he would be a memorable student, but he was spared the internal turmoil of dictating the question by the arrival of Rankin. The man looked over the assembled mass with a disdainful eye. Though to be fair, Laurence was beginning to suspect that might have been Rankin’s set expression. The censorious glance fell on Laurence and Tharkay, and the sneer twisted further.

“I hope you do not intend on burdening this mission with persons who are not essential to its completion, Mr. Laurence.” Rankin seemed to enjoy putting an emphasis on _Mr_. whenever he addressed Laurence. “Our supplies will be limited, and I do not want to see it wasted on hangers-on.”

Laurence stiffened, fighting to keep from clenching his fists. “Mr. Tharkay has proven himself to be a more than competent tracker and a good hand in perilous situations. He has also on several occasions provided exceptional aid to the Corps. He has more than earned a position in our number. Neither I nor Temeraire will be without him on this journey.”

“Hmm, if will you insist on having the man along then I will insist he not handle any weapons. Those are for aviators not private citizens or convicts.” He shot Tharkay a glance that said he thought him to be in the latter group. “The same can be said for that cook you drag about.”

It would have been going a touch too far to point out that Laurence himself was a convict yet no one had said anything when he’d been handed a pistol. Some things were better left not mentioned. Besides, knowing Tharkay the man had his own stash of weaponry. And anyone who’d seen Gong Su butcher the evening meal knew the cook to be _extremely_ precise with knives.

Rankin strode over to Caesar, and Laurence let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging slightly.

“Indeed.” Tharkay nodded. 

With the last of the prisoners tossed into the rigging, the rest of the preparations were completed in a matter of minutes. Laurence walked a circuit about Temeraire, checking for any last-minute faults. Then with a nod he and Tharkay clambered into the waiting claw. As they were hoisted up, Laurence felt a pang of eerie familiarity. For a moment he was back in Canton, about to start the long trek to Istanbul. But the brief collision of memory ended. There was no crew ready to face the trials of a seemingly impossible journey; there were the several dozen convicts below and a handful of sulky officers who’d sooner shoot Laurence in the back than fight beside him.

As he settled in, he glanced back. There was Emily Roland, who’d followed her captain through good and ill, and Fellows as well. And Demane and Sipho were hunkered down beside them. And next to Laurence, Tharkay was clipping himself into the harness. No, perhaps he did not have the strength of his old, tried and trusted crew with him, but what he had was more than enough.

Temeraire stretched out his wings and lunged skyward.

***

It was strange how the lack of fulfillment of a basic need slowly reduced a man to a simpler creature. The dryness in his throat grew harsher with each passing hour, and Laurence found himself fighting to keep from being overwhelmed with the fear that they would not find a water source. There was still some detached part of his mind that took a rather clinical interest in the regression. When they’d first lost sight of the river, worries for finding water had perhaps appeared in his mind once every twenty thoughts. After several hours of searching, it was every fifteen thoughts. When Caesar refused to fly, it was every ten thoughts. When the makeshift well they’d attempted to build failed, it was every five thoughts. By the time the group had settled down for the evening with dry mouths and chapped lips, Laurence’s mind was reduced to a cycle of almost constant fretting.  

_Find the water. Must find the water. Get Temeraire and the others to water._

Temeraire’s breathing was a ragged sound. It almost had Laurence upending what was left in his canteen into the dragon’s maw, for what little it would do him. But he knew Temeraire would not take Laurence’s rations; his concern for the Celestial was matched by Temeraire’s worry for him. For now, all he could do was rest by Temeraire’s side and hope they could at least make it back to Sydney in the morning.

A rustle from above drew his attention. He and Temeraire looked up as a bird landed on a low hanging branch near them. It was a rather roundish, puffy creature with brown wings and tan belly and neck. A slight glint caught Laurence’s eye: a small fish tail was dangling from the bird’s beak. Appearing to realize it had an audience for its evening meal, the feathered local quickly swallowed the remains of its dinner. The bird stared at them for a moment then opened its beak.

_Krrroooohahahahahahahaha_

It chortled loudly, the sound echoing amongst the trees. Then, having chuckled long enough, it rustled its feathers and flew away into the rapidly dimming forest. The vague hope of following the avian to find where it had been fishing quickly died as the creature was swiftly becoming hard to see in the topiary.

“Laurence, I believe that bird was laughing at us.” Temeraire rasped, watching as it disappeared into the foliage. “Whatever did it find so humorous?”

“Whatever it was, you can be sure it was in bad taste.” Laurence huffed as he tried to follow the fowl’s flight. His gaze landed on Tharkay emerging from between the trees. He trudged through the camp and set his gear down beside Laurence. “I suppose you have not had much success either?”

Tharkay shrugged as he sat. “This place is exceptionally labyrinthian. It would be a fascinating trek, if not for…” He gestured to the state of parched misery hanging over the camp.

“Indeed.” Laurence nodded. “It does not help matters that even the wildlife seems to be mocking us. One of the birds was eating fish.”

“Which way—”

Laurence shrugged and waved in the general direction the bird had flown off in. “Lost it before I had even time to stand.”

“Your tracking skills leave much to be desired.”

“I thought you held the expertise in avian care? Or does that only include such birds as those large enough to take a man’s head off?”

Tharkay raised an eyebrow. “Your patience is fast drying up with the water in your canteen.”

Laurence sighed, running a hand over his eyes. “My apologies. You are not to blame for this predicament. In fact, I dare say you are the only one who might get us out of it.”

“You put entirely too much faith in my abilities, Laurence. You are bound to meet disappointment eventually.”

An immediate denial sprang to Laurence’s lips, but he let it die there unspoken. Tharkay may say what he liked in an attempt to dissuade him, but there was a part of Laurence, separate from logic and reason, that knew that if anyone were to get them out of their current predicament it would be Tharkay. It was the same part of him, Laurence surmised, that had clung on to childish wonder. Tharkay had become to it some preternatural being, a trickster and guide, in that bit of Laurence’s heart that still refused to relinquish a belief in fairy tales.

“I do not mean that I expect you to find water; I just believe that if we were to find some it would only be because you had found it first.”

Tharkay glanced sideways at him, skepticism rolling off him. Laurence only grinned tiredly back at him and turned to set out his bedroll.

His faith was rewarded when he awoke later in the night to cold droplets of water splashing against his cheek. Laurence blinked to find Tharkay crouched beside him, a brimming canteen in one hand. He poured out a bit more water onto his hand and flicked it at Laurence. He scowled at Laurence’s smile

“Not a word.” He whispered.

***

A ragged, rusty cheer went up when they had sighted the river. The men were flinging themselves towards the water before Temeraire could even set down properly. Iskierka landed beside him and immediately stuck her head into the flow, gulping deeply. After overseeing Caesar dismount safely and Temeraire begin to drink, Laurence wound his way to a free spot and plunged his hands into the water. The coolness stung in a pleasant way and made his head ache as he drank. For several moments all that could be heard was the river babbling along and the soft gasps as the group drew breath between long quaffs.

Once they’d quenched their thirst, one of the convicts called: “Let’s hear it for the Chinaman! Good on ya, sir, for looking after this group of wayward souls!”

The laborers raised their battered canteens in Tharkay’s direction and yelled exuberantly. However, their cheers soon turned to shouts of annoyance as Caesar pushed his way through them and waded out into the middle of the river. Having reached a deep enough spot, the young dragon slumped down and let the water flow about him, ruining any chances of collecting drinkable water unless one moved upstream.

As irritating as the smaller dragon’s choice of bathing spot was, it was encouraging to see the creature up and about. Once the party’s water reserves were filled, Laurence hardly needed to coax Temeraire into the water. The river was not deep enough for him to completely submerge, but with the help of Roland and Sipho, they were able to wash his back down enough to be rid of most of the traveling dust. It appeared that both Iskierka and Caesar took to the idea as well, though Caesar was having a time of it trying to bully the convicts into helping clean him.

Laurence waded up to his knees and set about wiping down Temeraire’s head and neck. The comfort of a simple cleaning, he hoped, would set the dragon to rights. Tharkay had also joined them, boots gone and trousers rolled up.

Temeraire tilted his head. “Tharkay, why do they call you Chinaman?”

“The subtleties of the various peoples of the Asian continent tend to be hard to notice to the majority of westerners.” Tharkay shrugged, idly wiping down the edge of Temeraire’s wing with a damp cloth. “Most are only aware that China exists. So, to them, anyone with a complexion like mine must inevitably be Chinese.”

Laurence frowned as he poured some water over Temeraire’s ruff. “I know I should scold them for such ignorance, but I doubt I am much better. I cannot claim to know much outside of Chinese culture.”

“The fact that you know there are other nations and peoples outside of China is a step in the right direction.”  Tharkay shot him a half-smile. “That does count for something.”

“Still,” Temeraire persisted. “They only call Tharkay that. No one ever calls Gong Su anything, and he _is_ Chinese. Not that I would wish anyone to act the scrub towards Gong Su. Although, now that I think about it, I have never seen anyone treat him poorly or call him names.”

“Ah,” Tharkay half laughed. “That is because of the age-old pact between those who cook and those who eat: never start a row with the person who prepares your food.”

***

A domestic peace settled about Laurence as he gazed over the valley. For this first time in so very long he felt a calm that lacked an edge, that did not have some sort of sense of foreboding waiting just at its limits. Here in the place of tall grass and placid bovines, of rambling river and bright sunset he could see Temeraire and himself settling into a life that, while nowhere near what he had come to expect or, in the more recent turbulent months of his existence, hoped for, would bring about contentment in its own rural way.

The softest of rustles alerted him that someone had taken a seat beside him. Laurence did not need to glance about to know it was Tharkay, the contemplative silence he brought with him was enough of an identifier. They stared out over the landscape, watching the slowly changing dyes of a sinking sun.

The quiet needed to be broken eventually, and Tharkay, the newcomer to Laurence’s meditation, took it upon himself to break it. “This valley would suit you well enough. There is only so much trouble the two of you could create in a place like this.”

Laurence plucked at a stem of grass. “It would suit us just as well as a life aboard a ship.”

“I do not wish to pull you in one direction or another.”

_But which direction would keep our paths intertwined?_ Laurence wanted, but dared not, to ask. The image of Tharkay keeping to a life of tending cattle, clearing trails, planting crops and building foundations just did not sit. Idly, Laurence speculated if Tharkay would be so attached to the life of a wanderer if he had not been denied the birthright of his estate. Life has a way of molding men, whether such men are capable of taking new shapes was the question.

“We need not chose a heading yet.” Laurence wound the green blade around his thumb. “I believe a few weeks of carving out a road in the wilderness will give us enough of a notion as to which path is more suitable.”

He looked over to see Tharkay staring out over the valley. His skin was tinted by the blood orange glow of the sunset. That warm, hungry feeling bubbled up from somewhere inside Laurence. It felt rather like gravity was pulling him sideways, just enough to rest his head against Tharkay’s shoulder. He could do that, couldn’t he? Just lean against a friend. Enjoy the shared weariness of a trial overcome.

“Ow,” Laurence glanced down to see that he’d pulled the strand of grass so tight it had begun to cut off circulation. But the pain had been enough to jolt him to his senses. He straightened up and looked back at the encampment. “I should see that everyone has settled for the evening.”

“Stay awhile yet, Will.” Tharkay finally turned from the view. His face held its usual placid expression, but his eyes seemed warmer. “I doubt those loafers will be up for much mischief tonight. And you deserve a few more moments away from Rankin and the other aviators. Stay and enjoy the quiet with me.”

There hadn’t been much desire to remove himself to begin with, and those words drained the last of Laurence’s will away. The hunger was there deep in his chest, but it was not particularly ravenous. He could remain in companionable silence. Laurence allowed himself to relax, though he was sure to angle his body slightly away from Tharkay’s. It would not do to risk it, should that feeling, taking advantage of Laurence’s exhausted state, gain control and lead him into an awkward situation. He turned his thoughts and gaze firmly back to the land about him.

Yes. Here, in this valley, in this moment, Laurence could see a life that was quiet, calm, rough and rewarding. His hands could be put to the task of building, tending, growing. They would not be needed to cut down men as a farmer would wheat. They could trade sword for plow or scythe, pistol for stone and mortar. Here he and Temeraire might carve out a small sanctuary, and the rest of the world could go on turning or burning as the powers that be saw fit.

But there would be no…movement. They would stall here. There would be no cause for Temeraire to take up; with only three other dragons in the whole country there wouldn’t be much of a front for draconic rights. There would be hardly any contact with the outside world, whether or not it was burning. And, again, there would be no Tharkay.

“You are fretting again.”

Laurence blinked, cheeks warming at being called out. “Ah, yes. My apologies.”

He glanced over to see Tharkay shaking his head. “What will happen, will happen. And we will crest the wave or be carried off with it regardless of what we might have planned.”

“Am I not the one who is meant to use sailing analogies?”

Tharkay said nothing, merely smirked and looked back out into the setting sun.

***

Despite his firm reassurances to Temeraire, a small part of Laurence did feel like their group had stepped out into a surreal otherworld. Red. Everywhere was a rusty, dusty red. The color was interrupted by dry grass, squat shrubs and spindly trees that looked like they had grown for the sole purpose of being used as kindling. But underneath this stubborn evidence of life was the red, red dirt.

Perhaps it was that bit of English naivety, that small part of his mind that remembered scampering about on his family’s grounds, that rebelled against the sight of the soil. It insisted that earth was meant to be dark and cool and encouraging. The red that surrounded them now wasn’t so demoralizing as outright hostile. It was like certain color patterns that identified poisonous creatures: keep away to keep death at bay. In some primal part buried deep beneath the rational, Laurence knew the red would try to kill them.

Glancing back over the terrain they’d covered in the night Laurence could just make out hazy line of green. Back there were the forest and river. Back there were safety and life. But there was no returning to that welcoming green. Not yet. Not while Temeraire and Iskierka were ready to turn over every rock and bramble to find the egg.

The sigh that escaped him was more of resignation than weariness. Laurence looked down at his boots, already covered in a layer of red dust. He suspected that it would not take very long for dirt to gather into every corner, every wrinkle of fabric, every strand of hair and under every edge of scale. They would collect the red as they traveled, and, if they managed to scrape through whatever the great expanse of bloody earth had planned for them, they would carry those bits of dust with them back to the safety of the green. Part of Laurence’s mind wonder if that was how the desert before him grew.

Tharkay was some ways off, crouched amongst the shrubs. Careful not to disturb him, Laurence walked up behind the tracker. He saw Tharkay tracing a footprint, a bare footprint, in the dust. Then Laurence’s gaze caught on a bright scrap of blue, a torn strip of silk clinging to the brambles. The fabric was faded but the color still seemed like an alien creature against the dry tones of the desert. Tharkay tugged the cloth free and stood, winding the silk between his fingers. When he met Laurence’s stare the corner of his mouth tugged down, that was nearly a grimace coming from Tharkay, and Laurence could guess the reason for his friend’s frustration.

The smugglers, now egg thieves, were natives. And no matter how honed Tharkay’s skills were, against a people who’d been traversing the land for generations and knew its temperament, there was little chance of besting them. Not in their home, as desolate a place as it seemed to be. Luck was as much a factor for their search party as ability.

Laurence said nothing. There would be no persuading Temeraire and Iskierka to turn back, so there was no point in delaying any longer than it took to scrounge up whatever clues they could find to chart their course. He rested a hand on Tharkay’s arm, trying to squeeze some reassurance into the limb, even disadvantaged Laurence would still have him as their guide. Tharkay nodded solemnly, and together they turned back to the group, already preparing to begin the day’s search.

***

Laurence could only grip at Temeraire’s harness as he watched the bunyips rush towards the gathered men. The reptilian creatures moved with a stubby grace across the red dirt, racing towards the small crowd like sheep dogs intending on scattering the flock of ewes. The convicts dropped their lines and ran, though to where Laurence knew not. All there was for miles and miles was red, red dust. And the bunyips.

Trapped as he was with Temeraire in the sand pit, Laurence cursed that he hadn’t thought to keep a pistol on his person that night. Temeraire, for his part, was thrashing as much as the dusty trap would allow him, straining his neck out in a futile attempt to snap at the oncoming creatures. They could not help. And the convicts had left the aviators in disoriented tangles of rope. The only ones left to defend—

The crack of a pistol drew an answering shriek of pain from one of the bunyips. Roland wasted no time, already reloading her still smoking weapon. Demane also managed a shot, wounding one of the advancing predators in the shoulder. But there were still those precious few seconds between firing. Roland’s initial target was within only a few feet of her, jaws open.

Half the bunyip’s head became a spray of black at the sound of another rifle discharge. And there was Tharkay, a few feet behind and to the side of Roland, holding a pistol. The surviving bunyip veered from its intended course, snatched up its fallen brethren, and scrambled back up the dune.

Laurence sank to his knees. “I thought you were told not to use any of the corps weaponry.”

“Of course,” Tharkay smirked up at him. “this is one of mine.”

“Those wretched, skulking fiends.” Temeraire growled, wriggling uselessly in the sand. “I shall dig them up from their burrows and rip them apart, just see if I do not!”

“Yes, I am sure you shall try to,” Tharkay reloaded his pistol, keeping one eye on the top of the dune. “but let us first take care of the small matter of getting you and Laurence free."

Laurence looked at the tangled lines and then at the ragged group of workmen slowly wandering back to the site; freedom would take some time yet to achieve. He slumped against Temeraire’s neck, desperately trying not to think about how useless a position he was in.

***

There was nothing quite so satisfying, or quite so startling, as washing away an absurd amount of dust and dirt from weeks of travel. The bathhouse, or rather the glorified shed that had been empty but could at least provide them with some measure of privacy, was situated close to the house they’d been given. The convicts had to make due with dunking in the ocean or using a nearby stream.

For the sake of sanity, Laurence had allowed Rankin and the other officers to take the first wash; he had busied himself speaking with Jia Zhen about the extent of the outpost. The progress of the settlement, considering how short a time ago it had been founded, both impressed and worried Laurence. While the land was technically unclaimed, he doubted his fellow countrymen would view it that way.

Tharkay was likewise occupied with inquiries. Laurence had last seen him chatting with a craftsman, the Chinese language flowing too swiftly for Laurence to catch more than a phrase or two. Now, as Laurence tried not to fidget at Jia Zhen’s bowing goodbye, Tharkay stood staring out towards the makeshift harbor. The corner of his mouth was twisted slightly up into his tell-tale smirk. Even now, Laurence wasn’t entirely sure what that expression meant, pleasure, disdain or mischief. He strode over to him, watching as a strong breeze from the sea brushed Tharkay’s hair back from his face and ruffled his clothes.

Laurence noted that the man had lost weight, undoubtedly, they all had, while at the same moment a pulse of pleasure rushed through him at the sight of his companion’s profile. Tharkay looked…lovely. Laurence’s travel-worn brain failed to think of a better word. Yes, lovely like a brightly lit hearth after a long journey home, or a plate full of fruit after months on strict rations. The latter comparison set Laurence’s mouth to watering.

He cleared his throat. “I believe it is our turn at the bathhouse.”

Heath flooded his cheeks as Laurence realized what that meant. Washing. Together. With Tharkay looking as he did. Laurence suddenly found himself wishing for the tension of the past weeks, at least the stress had provided distraction on the rare occasion there was water enough for a quick wash down. But now that they were relatively safe, and Tharkay appearing so at ease, Laurence wasn’t sure if he could fully ignore the yearning that had been sitting, coiled like a waiting serpent, in the corner of his mind.

Tharkay, unaware of Laurence’s ongoing internal skirmish, smiled at him. That did not help matters.

“Hrm, ah this way.” Laurence rather stiffly turned towards the hut. He focused on his footsteps and most certainly not on the fact that he would be in a confined space sans clothing with Tharkay. Berating himself for acting like an unexperienced youth, Laurence grasped onto the fact that they wouldn’t be alone in the bathhouse. Small mercies. He knocked once before slowly sliding the door open.

The floors of the bath house had been sluiced down between groups. Several deep basins of cool water had been placed at the corners with a small stack of washrags and several bars of soap on small tables beside them. Not particularly luxurious, but a more than welcome sight. Laurence could feel his skin itching with the urge to be rid of its grimy layers.

And Granby and Demane were there, and, judging by the decreasing levels of red on them, already well into their ablutions. Granby nodded in their direction. Laurence hurried to an unoccupied basin and began to undress, keeping his eyes pointed towards his own corner. His fingers were stiff, he struggled with the fastenings on his shirt. He nearly tipped over when yanking off his boots and stockings. In fact, by the time Laurence had gotten down to his trousers and actually started scrubbing at himself, the other two captains were finished. Laurence cursed himself.

Now only he and Tharkay remained, and Laurence, despite feeling that no amount of thorough scrubbing would ever rid him of the dust, knew he would be keeping his trousers most decidedly on. Despite his best efforts, a quick glance showed the other man had likewise chosen to keep his own set on as well. A rush of heat traveled up Laurence’s spine as the memory of washing in an ornamental pond in the grounds of a palace in Istanbul slid before his mind’s eye. They had not been wearing anything then, though to be fair, modesty had to be sacrificed for the sake of retaining what sense of smell had survived their misadventure in the sewers.

Laurence dunked his head into a clean, and thankfully very cold, water basin before that memory could take seed and begin to grow. He was weary. That was all. Weary and worn thin and needing to feel something other than dry wind, scorching sun and coarse sand. He was hungry. But whether the ache from his stomach or the one that emanated Laurence knew not where was the most pressing at that very moment he couldn’t tell. He plunged his head into the water again.

Brushing damp strands of hair back from his face, Laurence risked another look at his bathing companion. Tharkay was shaking his head, holding up a cloth now caked in red.

“I assure you this was white when I had picked it up.”

Laurence grabbed an extra cloth and dampened it. “Here, I have a spare.”

He turned, hand held out. Tharkay was slightly closer than he’d expected.

He hadn’t meant to reach so far, but here he was pressing the cloth to Tharkay’s chest. And Laurence, despite a good portion of his mind screaming at him to back away, found he could not move. The hunger clawed its way up from somewhere deep within him as he watched the rivulets of water travel down the lean muscle and tan skin. Laurence tracked the movement of a single droplet as it made its way towards the sparse line of hair that started just below Tharkay’s navel and trailed down, down—

There was a pressured against Laurence’s hand. He shot his gaze upward to see Tharkay pressing it more firmly against his chest while also tugging the cloth away. Then it was just skin against skin, without even the thin veneer of the washcloth. Laurence stared, feeling the other man’s heartbeat underneath his palm. But it was Tharkay’s eyes that held him; there was a hunger there that mirrored Laurence’s own.

Laurence was all too aware of the slightest quickening of breath as Tharkay began to move his hand downwards. The rangy muscle and rough skin were mapped out beneath Laurence’s hand, the occasional scar a rough ridge against his fingertips. Touch was his only guide; he could not break Tharkay’s gaze. There was the light dusting of hair, his hand was drawn down along it. Laurence’s breath stuttered as he was paused, his fingers brushing against the edge of trousers. The world seemed to pause around them as well, the air still and silent, waiting. Laurence’s thumb brushed just beneath the cloth.

“Rankin, you need not go bother Laurence with speaking to the official. Temeraire would be a better translator.” Granby’s loud and rather too hearty sounding voice bashed against the walls.

Laurence suddenly found his hand free and his face full of wet cloth. By the time he’d lifted the rag from his eyes, Tharkay was finishing up his own ablutions with somewhat jerky movements. Barely a moment later the door slid open and Rankin entered, followed closely by Granby whose forehead was furrowed and teeth set into his lower lip.

“Is there something so urgent it cannot wait until I finish rinsing off over a month’s worth of dirt, Rankin?” Laurence asked, his tone sharp and clipped. “As it is, I have only managed washing off two weeks of the dust.”

Rankin barreled on, heedless of Laurence’s ire. “I want a word with the official here.”

“Jia Zhen, yes he has been quite accommodating to our bedraggled group. What a sight we must have made. I am sure if you allow me a few moments to finish washing I might be in a slightly improved state to make a better second impression.”

The only response he received was a scowl and short nod. Rankin turned and stalked away. Granby remained; his expression rather apologetic. Laurence made to glance at Tharkay but froze; the earlier tension left in its wake a gangly awkwardness, more so now that there was witness to whatever exchanges came next. Granby’s presence had become both a relief and a hindrance.

A shuffle off to the side proved to be Tharkay tucking his shirt into his trousers, having finished bathing while the two captains had been speaking. He stepped out into the bright afternoon light.

“I think I shall take the measure of this outpost.”

And before Laurence could get a word in, he was striding off towards the docks. Granby retreated as well, sliding the door shut behind him with a meekness that some part of Laurence’s mind, not currently occupied with trying to juggle conflicting feelings of arousal, confusion, irritation and loss, registered and labeled for closer inspection once the rest of his mind sorted itself out.

The small wash room seemed rather dismal now that it held just one occupant. The water did little to soothe Laurence now; the rag now seemed coarse and irritating to his skin. He nearly knocked over the basin when he went to rinse the cloth out, in fact he felt that tipping the washbowl over and kicking it against the nearest wall would be quite the thing for his troubles. Laurence instead settled for yanking his shirt over his head a little too harshly, judging by the slight ripping sound. Now he had a tear at his right elbow for his troubles.

Feeling that the day had taken a significant turn towards the irritating, Laurence, despite the best upbringing his parents had bestowed upon him, found himself stomping out of the bath hut rather like a petulant child. He saw that Granby was standing only a few yards away from him. His friend sidled over to him, that apologetic expression still etched across his face.

“I am sorry about Rankin.” Granby leaned in, glancing in the direction the other captain had sauntered off in. “I am just relieved that…well less said soonest mended.”

Laurence stopped, spine going rigid, the tone in Granby’s voice and that meek expression…were they implying…

“I am not sure what would cause you such distress.”

Granby stared at him somewhat blankly. “Well I mean…you and…I’d thought the two of you…it had been a long journey and…you mean to say you and…and…what?”

“There is nothing that you need to concern yourself over, John.” Laurence winced at the frustration clear in his voice, but now panic was taking on a larger role in his warring emotions. “Considering how long we have been trapped traveling with Rankin, I doubt I would lose much face should the man walk in on my washing up.”

“That’s it?” Granby’s gaze had turned rather flat, his tone even more so. He sighed and shook his head. “Right then. I’ll just go look for the river Nile then. See you for supper.”

Laurence frowned after Granby’s retreating form, bewilderment momentarily blocking all other emotions. “The Nile?”

***

While the return journey to Sidney was fast it was, if possible, far less pleasant than the long tedious search that had led them northwards. Carting along Willoughby and the remaining survivors of the serpents’ attack had dwindled their sparse supplies down to nearly nothing. Their return to the valley meant the decimation of a good portion of the herd there before they continued onward. By the time they’d limped their way into Sidney it was clear that in the ever-continuous battle of Man versus Nature, Nature had won this particular round of fisticuffs and had left Man in need of medical attention and probably several bottles of stiff drink. 

They hadn’t even had much time to recuperate; Granby and Iskierka left within a day on the _Allegiance_ , the dragon transport having lingered so long in port that the sailors had to be hunted down and all but dragged back aboard the ship. The new governor was little improvement over Bligh, and it seemed the Rum Corps were not taking the transfer of power all too well. Add to it the fact that there seemed to be an increased number of sea serpents about the harbor and surrounding waters, and that Willoughby seemed determined to burn the Chinese outpost to the ground, tensions in the colony were akin to a pot of oil about to boil over onto an open flame.

And Tharkay was leaving.

And so once again Laurence found himself sharing a tavern table with Tharkay. And like the previous shared meal, it was during the night they were to part ways. Between the two, this repast was far more subdued. While their first meal had been filled with anecdotes and liquor-soaked truths, the second dinner was a quieter affair. Laurence did not wish to fill the silence, and, judging from his lack of speech, neither did Tharkay. They ate. They drank. And they observed the life that bustled around them.

The quiet wasn’t entirely comfortable. Not like the softness of that evening in the valley so many weeks ago. No, there was a part of Laurence that wanted to speak, wanted to ask questions about Tharkay’s plans. But to ask them would be to put weight on the growing sense of loneliness inside Laurence’s chest. It would cast further light upon the fact that they were to part within a number of hours. And Laurence didn’t know for how long. And Laurence didn’t know if it was because he’d chosen to remain in New South Wales. And he was afraid that such questions would reveal too much about his character at the moment. And he was afraid to know what the answers would do to him once they’d been said.

So he remained silent.

Tharkay seemed restless. He only herded bits of his meal from one side of the plate to the other, rarely making the effort of lifting fork to mouth. After such a long journey on thin rations, Laurence felt a pang for seeing food go to waste, but he found that his own appetite was rather recalcitrant as well. After another few moments of rearranging his dinner, Tharkay set down his fork.

“I cannot find it within myself to finish, and I have little wish to spend the rest of the evening at this table.” He breathed in deeply. “Will you accompany me to my room?”

The full force of the Divine Wind could not have moved Laurence from where he sat frozen in his chair. What did that mean? Was it a simple desire to talk, to pass the last few hours together away from the bustle of the barroom? Or was it…more? Was it to be like that night in Portsmouth oh so many years ago? Would Laurence again find himself waking alone in a cold room and colder bed?

His stomach twisted at the thought. For once, something was rising up to meet the hunger head-on: fear. Not the fear of mistreatment or even discovery. No, Laurence feared what going with Tharkay would do to their friendship. Thoughts that had merely lurked in his subconscious now surfaced and churned up the waters in his mind into a confusing froth. Would what he and Tharkay shared become some strange lopsided thing of friendship and physical release? That was what he and Jane had had for a time, and it had been…doable. But Laurence had always found something to be missing in that scheme. If Tharkay wanted something similar, to keep the physical merely physical and leave deeper emotions out of it, Laurence wasn’t sure he could manage it. There was too much between them. And he…cared for Tharkay too much. He wouldn’t be able to keep his heart out of it.

Then again, another thought breached the waters, Tharkay might only be extending an invitation for a simple night spent in companionable conversation and a few rounds of whist. This notion troubled Laurence almost as much as the first. Surely, Tharkay knew that Laurence was…was…Laurence wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, but if anyone knew it would be Tharkay. And then the memory of the bathhouse swam by, Tharkay’s hand sliding Laurence’s own down and down. What was he to make of that?

Indecision paralyzed him. Laurence wanted to rise and follow. He wanted to cling to the table and not move an inch. He wanted to know, well, what he really wanted. And while sitting in the slightly unbalanced tavern chair certainly wasn’t helping his decision-making process, it seemed that while his mind was caught in a storm his body was trapped in a doldrum.

The crack of rifle fire was nearly as relieving as it was startling. Instinct had Laurence half rising from his seat, head turning to locate the source of the disturbance. Another loud bang echoed outside, followed by shouts.

He turned to Tharkay who seemed to sag somewhat in his chair.

“I suppose we might not just become temporarily deaf?” He sighed.

Laurence shook his head, even now he could hear the ruckus moving further away. “I think that is the Rum Corps. We cannot simply—”

“I know.” Tharkay rose to his feet. “I know you cannot ignore it.”

“You need not come with me. I hope whatever is happening outside can be reined in with as little bloodshed as possible.”

“Doubtful, but that will not be a hindrance to you.”

The dull tone of resignation in Tharkay’s voice sent a pang through Laurence. For just a moment he wished that he were back trapped in that bubble of indecision, at least then there had been the possibility of…something. But now the current of life was carrying them onwards and swimming back wasn’t an option. Tamping down the ache in his chest, Laurence opened the door to the inn and stepped out into the humid early evening, Tharkay close at his heels.

***

The docks of Sydney were as bustling as any other, though perhaps the colony port now had to keep more of an eye out for sea serpents than any other. The buzz of journeys beginning and ending settled around them as Laurence and Tharkay walked towards the waiting vessel that would see one of them to China; the other wished the ship would sink while tied to its moorings. Laurence shook his head to rid himself of that ill thought.

The morning sunlight was already bright, too bright in Laurence’s opinion. He’d slept very little the night before, pacifying the rebellion and then hitting himself in the head for his actions, or lack thereof, with Tharkay. Whatever fire that had been stoked that evening had been thoroughly doused, leaving the pair of them chilled and ungainly towards each other. All that time spent onboard the _Allegiance_ , all those days wandering the wilds of Australia and somehow they had managed to revert to some awkward version of themselves during the journey to Istanbul. Only this seemed worse.

“I supposed that scrap of a boat will get me to Canton in a relative state of wholeness.” The first words Tharkay had said since departing from Temeraire at the promontory. The ship indeed looked rather pokey. “At least the voyage will be a fraction of the length it took to get here.”

Laurence cleared his throat. “What do you planned to do once you have delivered your report to the East India Trading Company?”

“I expect they shall want me to forward the news to Maden. He is a good broker of information after all. And doubtless he might send more work my way.”

Another bucket of water was splashed onto the already soaked remains of the fire. Tharkay was going to travel back to Istanbul. Back to a life that, if not comfortable, was well known to him. His path would intersect with countless others, and Tharkay would once again be a part of the ever-changed crowd, another strong heartbeat in the pulse of the masses.

And Laurence would be left behind.

The request, no the plea, Laurence wanted to utter rose from somewhere in his chest, clawed up his throat, but it died before it could reach his lips. How could he ask this man, who had already thrown his lot to chance by traveling with Laurence to this wild, desolate place, to give up his duty, his standing with the East India Company and most common source of income and stay with Laurence and Temeraire in the sunburnt continent? No, Laurence could not do that, he had already asked for too much.

And perhaps some time apart would be better for them both. Laurence needed to grapple with his mind and body, keep them under a tighter reign. He wasn’t sure he could handle a physical relationship if he must keep emotions out of it. He couldn’t reconcile the needs of his body with the needs of his heart, and he dare not draw Tharkay into the mire with him.

All of this tumbled about in his mind as he escorted Tharkay to the ship.

They halted at the gangplank.

So many words were trying to escape at once. Laurence could only rasp. “Stay safe, Tenzing. Please.”

Tharkay raised an eyebrow. “A hard request to abide in this current age.”

“Then stay smart. That should not be a challenge for you. And then I can be assured that should you stumble into danger you can find your way back out of it.”

“I shall try, Will.” He held out his hand.

Laurence grasped it, perhaps too tightly. “Please…”

But the words would not be said.

Tharkay squeezed his hand back.

“Oi, getting on or not? We’re about to shove off!” The grating yell of a crewman broke their grip.

In one smooth motion, Tharkay was turning away and striding over the gangplank before Laurence could blink. They hadn’t actually exchanged goodbyes. But Tharkay was climbing down below the deck without a backwards glance and the sailors were already setting about casting off. Laurence’s legs turned him about without his realizing and were taking him swiftly away from the docks before his mind could order otherwise.

He did not run, but his pace may have increased as he wound his way back through the rambling, permanent encampment that was Sydney. Laurence was panting by the time he’d made it back to the promontory; he barely had breath to ask Sipho to fetch his spyglass. It didn’t take him long to scope out the sloop through the warped lenses of the glass.

“Can you see it?” Temeraire asked, settling down beside Laurence. “Can you see his ship?”

“Yes,” Laurence croaked, there was a fair bit of dust in the air today. He cleared his throat. “It is making good time. Just about two months to Canton, if the weather holds fair.”

“It would be but two weeks if he went by dragon.”

Laurence turned to Temeraire. “You would wish Tharkay there sooner?”

“Only so he may return sooner.” Temeraire’s ruff drooped against his neck.

Words of comfort lodged themselves in Laurence’s throat. He reached out and laid a hand against Temeraire’s warm side. It was the only form of solace he could provide. They turned back to watch the ship, a rapidly diminishing dark spot against the dual blues of sky and sea, until it faded from view, and still they sat on the cliff, staring off into the horizon.

The sun drifted higher in the sky as they rested. Laurence knew that various chores were awaiting them. The valley was awaiting them. The task of creating a new life, roughhewn but sturdy, from the vast wilderness of a new land was awaiting them. But neither man nor dragon moved. The slowly forming city of Sydney bustled below them, but neither moved. The promontory grew hot with the rising sun, but neither moved.

Adjusting, that, Laurence realized, was what he and Temeraire were doing. They were adjusting to having an integral part of their lives, and impetus to continue on through trial by man, sea, sun and land, removed from them. A limb they hadn’t realized they’d relied upon so much was now amputated, and they now must learn to wade through the world with their newfound handicap.

They were on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so the next month and a half are going to be a bit crazy for me, so it's safe to say not to expect an update until the new year (maybe end of December if I'm lucky). Sorry everyone. But thank you for sticking with this story. As always feedback is great, and please let me know if you catch any major grammar/spelling mistakes


	5. Chapter 4. What If This Feeling Becomes Hard to Part With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Granby, sober or otherwise, will have the truth, Laurence is more self-aware than he realizes, and something is finally acknowledged, if not through words then by actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aten't dead!   
> That being said, sorry for the delay; life and writer's block will do that.   
> Title is a line from the Jackson Browne song "Call It a Loan".   
> And to save anyone the Google search: Pogonotrophy is the act of growing/grooming facial hair (it wasn't until I uploaded this chapter that I realized at a glance it might look suspiciously like another word, but I really wanted a fancy word for growing a beard).   
> A few scenes from Crucible but most take place in BoT.  
> Alright, here we go!

The city on the mountain stretched out before them. It cut into and flowed about the peaks with an organic yet oddly mathematical imprint. Clouds raced above on the breeze, so close but never quite touching the rock below. A strange but balancing union of earth and sky. Laurence wished Tharkay could see it. There was another reason why he wanted the man there on the mountain with him, actually there were several reasons some of which Laurence was still not quite fully prepared to admit to himself, and as he looked over to see Granby’s expectant expression he wished all the more harder that some spontaneous movement from the heavens might drop Tharkay into their presence. He would’ve been able to handle the situation far better than Laurence.

“An invert?” Laurence wished he had something to occupy his hands, they lay fidgeting in his lap.

Granby sighed. “Yes, all my life as far as I am aware. I’ve just never been drawn to the, ah, fairer sex.”

He seemed to be waiting for Laurence to add something. But what words were there to speak? If they existed, they were doing their utmost to hide from Laurence. Was Granby expecting censure or even scorn? Laurence would not, could not, give either. He thought back to his early days in the Navy; that younger Laurence might turn from Granby, run to what authority there was to report the supposed crime. Even the fumbling lad that had spent a long-ago night with a long-ago Tharkay would have considered the idea of exposure. But the Laurence now…again his thoughts flitted briefly to Tharkay, wherever that gentleman was in the world, and an empty pang racked through his chest. No, he could not turn against Granby.

Sadly, no words to express his inner growth were forthcoming. Instead Laurence managed: “I suppose that would make founding a lineage for Iskierka rather difficult.”

“I’ll manage something.” Granby stared at him a moment longer then snorted. “For God’s sake, Laurence, I might just find myself bound to a marriage arranged by my own insidious opportunist of a dragon before the week is out, might I beg a little honesty from you?”

It was Laurence’s turn to stare. Then, like the tide rolling out to reveal the reef below, the answer was there before him. Granby’s looks throughout their travels about Australia, the comment he’d made at the Chinese outpost. He knew, or at least he suspected. Sudden panic gripped Laurence. But Granby’s expression wasn’t accusatory; it was open, curious, and perhaps a bit sympathetic. He had shown what hidden burdened he bore; Laurence could do the same, if for the sake of the confidence earned over several years of friendship.

But the words were hard to speak. Laurence swallowed. “I do not consider myself an invert, but…as I believe you suspect…Tharkay and I…that is to say we were briefly…some years ago we…”

Granby took pity on him. “The two of you shared a bed. And not for economic reasons or survival purposes.”

“Yes.” The single syllable seemed more like a sigh. Laurence’s shoulders sagged like a weight that had been dangling between them had been cut free. And once it’d dropped, he found he could tell the rest of the account of that long-ago night. Albeit, an abridged and very halting version.

“How long have you suspected?” Laurence asked once he’d finished his stumbling monologue.

“Hmm? Oh, ah…” Granby shot him a sheepish grin. “well, I suppose, since that night in Canton when we went to request Tharkay’s services as a guide. I have some experience with awkward reunions with…past acquaintances. It was only a shadow of a suspicion at first, but as we traveled it became more apparent that the two of you shared a history.”

Laurence groaned and rubbed his temples. “Were we so transparent? Did anyone else surmise this?”

Silence greeted his query.

Laurence looked up sharply to see Granby grimacing. “John, who else…”

“Ah, well…I suppose there might be a few that have…guessed that something lay between you and Tharkay.” Catching Laurence’s expression, he hurried on. “It was just before the invasion, when you had been sent away to stay with the blockade. I was there when Tharkay had returned with about a dozen ferals in tow. When he had heard about what you’d done and your sentencing he…well he went off; he did not yell or start a row, but there was this look... I think he was close to setting the ferals on several of the officers if Roland hadn’t stepped in. And after, when she sent him away, she turned to me and asked: ‘and how long has he been bedding Laurence?’ And it—oh, easy there, Will.” He slapped Laurence between the shoulders when a coughing fit started.

“Ah, my apologies,” Laurence spluttered, face a deep red as dismay and embarrassment coursed through him. So, Jane knew then. But she hadn’t appeared disgusted when they had met during the invasion. Granted, she had been tasked with keeping the Aerial Corps, which at that point had all the calm collectiveness of a flock of chickens when a fox has been sighted, from completely disintegrating. Add to that, she had to deal with no small amount of condescension and stubbornness from the Admiralty for being a woman in power, never mind that she was the most competent of leaders to be had, so it was understandable that the liaisons of a former lover would not be at the forefront of her concerns.

They lapsed into silence as half of Laurence’s mind was in a blind panic that Jane, and possibly others, knew of the somewhat convoluted nature of his and Tharkay’s relationship while the other half pointed out that, having gone through transportation and exile to New South Wales and receiving no further punishments, it was quite possible that those who knew just didn’t give a damn. Laurence was allowed to continue his internal debate for several moments more before a loud and pointed cough interrupted him.

“Will,” Granby began, and his expression was of resigned weariness and a touch of doom. “whatever may come of Iskierka’s machinations, I would be grateful to you if you would tell—”

“No, John, do not take such a grim view.” Laurence shook his head to clear his mind of the mire it had made itself into. “After everything we have survived, a possible arranged marriage will not be the end of you. I…” he placed a hand on Granby’s shoulder, wanting his words, awkward but truthful like the man they sprung from, to be heard regardless of his discomfort. “You are my friend, and a friend would wish you happiness on your pending nuptials. But in this I would fail you, for now I know your nature as you have long guessed at mine, and I know you would not be happy as a bridegroom. So, I shall wish, most fervently, that you miraculously become so unappealinga suitor that we are run out of the city entirely. Hammond and Iskierka’s designs be damned.”

Granby snorted, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “I have never been so pleased to have someone wish me ill fortune in courting. Though I could do without being chased away.”

“Yes, but you must consider our past luck; Lady Fortune likes her patterns and playthings, and she seems yet untired with putting us through our paces.”

“Cheers to that.”

***

That singular moment of truth had seemed to be all Granby would broach, and Laurence, after, as unfortunately predicted, being chased out of the Incan empire and trekking through the vast forests of the Amazon, had thought that the subject would not be brought to light again. But then Granby lost his hand. Having seen several amputations during his time in the navy, Laurence could admit that his friend handled the process better than most, though the use of local drugs were undoubtedly no small aid in the matter. It was several hours since the surgery had been completed, and Granby was still in something of a haze. But after everything the man had been through, particularly at the maneuverings of his own dragon, Laurence was willing to give him more time in the land of the inebriated.

“Will.”

Laurence looked across the cramped surgeon’s room to spot Granby sluggishly waving at him; his left arm was bound up and pressed tightly against his chest.

“C’mere,” Granby whispered loudly, gesturing more emphatically and accidentally knocking his hand against the small bedside table. He stared bemusedly as a cup was dashed onto the floor.

“Do be careful, John,” Laurence said, crossing over to him. “You cannot afford to lose that other hand.”

“Bah, there are more important things to sort out in the immediate area.”

Laurence huffed as Granby patted his cheek then began to prod at the side of Laurence’s face. “I do not see what could be more significant than your recovery.”

“Shhh, this needs telling. Otherwise the two of you will continue to stumble about like blind men in an open field.”

“Hmm.” As Granby was currently poking the side of his nose, Laurence decided that was the safest answer.

The haze of drugs seemed to clear somewhat as Granby mulled over his words. “This world, Will, it is all rather…messy. And—and there is so much nonsense running amok in it, yes?”

“Generally, a mess is rather nonsensical. Go on.”

“Well, occasionally you bump into someone when you are stumbling about, and that someone makes the mess a bit more bearable, makes you want to see if there is something nice in amongst the chaos. Sometimes you find quite a few someones, and you should hold fast to all of them.”

“You know, John, you become a rather poetic when you are inebriated.”

“What I mean,” Granby said, prodding his finger at Laurence’s chin. “is you, you need someones. And you have some someones: Temeraire, me, the Rolands…but…”

He broke off to finally take his hand from Laurence’s face and rub it over his own eyes. Granby remained still and silent for so long that Laurence thought he’d fallen asleep, but when he shifted Granby sighed and moved his hand back from his eyes. His eyes which held a gleam that seemed to burn through the medicinal haze.

“You do not ask for much by way of personal happiness, Will, but you deserve it. Too long I have been silent on this subject, and for the sake of your sensibility I would remain so, but if I should die on this cursed journey—”

“Please do not be so macabre, John.”

“If I should die,” Granby spoke over him, placing his hand on Laurence’s shoulder. “I do not think I could find peace knowing that you and Tharkay might not come to an understanding. The two of you…you find amity with one another. There is a comfort between you that extends beyond whatever physical past you may have had. And quite frankly, you have a higher chance of survival when you are with him. Will, I know you might have reservations about the lifestyle of men like me—”

“No, John, I—”

“Tharkay cares for you, and you for him. Try as you may, there is no denying it. For heaven’s sake, Will. The man followed you to the other side of the world. Does that speak of simple friendship? Will, just…consider. The two of you can be so bloody dense. Please just take a chance.” His voice was beginning to fade as his eyelids drooped. His momentary sobriety was quickly slipping away. “You both deserve happiness, idiots though you may be.”

A soft snore issued from Granby’s mouth, effectively announcing the end of their rather one-sided conversation. Laurence sighed, tucked Granby’s remaining arm beneath the blanket and left the little room with its solitary occupant.

Granby’s words, however, were not left behind. They clung tightly to Laurence’s thoughts; they burrowed deeply into his mind, taking root and growing swiftly.

***

“I apologize, but it would appear I am a bit indisposed at the moment, Will.” Tharkay coughed, curling in on himself.

There were small patches of dried blood on his clothes and on the straw about him; he cradled his hands close to his body. For a moment, red tinted Laurence’s vision, but the fury was waylaid by the tide of dizziness; newly regained memories clashed with conflicting desires to attack the nearest fool with a weapon or to carry the man before him far, far away. He chose the latter. Sheathing his sword, Laurence knelt down beside his beaten and bloodied friend. He gently gripped Tharkay’s elbows, letting the man lean against him as they slowly rose. They managed to stand for a brief moment, then like a tower made of twigs, Tharkay wobbled and began to crumple back towards the ground. Laurence grabbed him and grimaced when he heard the cry of pain that Tharkay didn’t quite manage to stifle.

The soldiers that had followed Laurence were standing alertly by the room’s entrance. He turned to them. “Is there a doctor in our party? Have one at the ready when we leave.”

He received a quick bow before one of the soldiers darted off into the cave tunnels.

“I see your Chinese has vastly improved.” Tharkay croaked. “What brought that about?”

“Several months stuck aboard a ship with nowhere to escape from an overly zealous diplomat.” Laurence shifted his grip, wrapping an arm behind Tharkay’s shoulders. “You may hear all the sordid details once we have left this damnable rabbit’s warren.”

With a grunt he pulled Tharkay upright once more, his other arm hooked under Tharkay’s knees to haul him up. Laurence staggered somewhat, but Tharkay had lost weight and was nowhere near the burden he should be on Laurence’s already taxed limbs. Tharkay merely muttered a token protest before Laurence set out towards the cave entrance; he was too feverish to put up an argument, or too starved or too beaten; Laurence wasn’t sure.

The bright light of the outside world set Laurence to blinking as he emerged. General Chu was there, overseeing the imprisonment of what remained of Fela’s soldiers. And in the distance, winging back towards their encampment, was Maximus, his bright coppery scales glinting gold in the sunlight. Laurence couldn’t see Temeraire about, but he had a suspicion the Celestial was currently taking out his anger on a very unfortunate general turned conspirator.

“Set him down.”

Laurence turned to see a surgeon approaching them bearing a large kit bad and an expression that was practically bred into men of their profession: that of someone more than ready to be displeased with whatever deity created a creature so injury prone and belligerently idiotic as man. In short, a gentleman that knew his business, and knew that everyone else should mine their own.

“Set him down,” The man repeated, his tone brusque even in Chinese. And Laurence, who had long ago developed a respect bordering on healthy fear of medics, hurried to comply.

There was a small boulder to serve as a chair. Laurence tried to make the transfer as gently as possible, but he could see Tharkay wince. He had barely time to stand before he was pushed aside. The doctor tilted Tharkay’s face upwards, ran his hands over his skull. He peeled away what remained of Tharkay’s shirt to examine the lash wounds on his chest and back.

Laurence hovered only a foot or so away. Throughout the examination he could feel his anger rise with each wound revealed, but it was when the surgeon had taken Tharkay’s hands, and subsequently drawn out a strangled sob from the man, that Laurence had to pace about some distance before he judged himself collected enough to return.

“Your verdict, Sir?” Laurence asked.

The doctor draped a blanket about Tharkay’s shoulders before straightening. “Nothing that cannot be mended with time and patience. But I cannot treat the majority of his wounds here. The hands in particular will have to wait until we return to camp. I can sedate him until then to help with the fever—”

“No.” Tharkay’s answer was sharp in the cool air. “My mind has had to wade through enough fog these past few weeks, I shall not mire it further with drug.”

Laurence knelt beside him. “Are you certain, Tenzing? No one can dare fault you if you choose to ease some of the pain.”

“No, Will. I will bear it out. Quite frankly, I feel like I could do somersaults now that I am out of that blasted den.” He sagged against Laurence, showing the fib in his words. “Though perhaps not at this exact moment.”

“Perhaps not.”

He gently wrapped an arm around Tharkay’s back and tucked the man’s head against his shoulder. They rested there for a moment before a bugling roar drew their attention skyward. Temeraire was rushing back to them, wings stroking through the air with purposeful speed. He swooped and landed with a slight skid, head turning to look for Laurence.

“You are well, Laurence?” He called as he caught sight of them. “And Tharkay? He is not dead, is he?”

“If I am then I will make a particularly loquacious corpse.” Tharkay replied as Temeraire made his way over to them.

Despite himself, Laurence let a huff of laughter escape. “I think vengeful spirit might be more your path.” 

“Vengeful? No. Mischievous perhaps. Though I must admit the appeal of haunting would grow dull rather quickly.”

“Well at least you can be assured that we have put that possible future off for, hopefully, a long time yet.” Laurence looked up as Temeraire’s shadow fell across them. “The surgeon is optimistic, but we need to get Tharkay back to camp.”

Temeraire leaned down and gently nosed the injured man. “I shall have words with Arkady. Clearly, he does not care enough about your wellbeing to have abandoned you so, Tharkay.”

“Ah, Arkady.” Tharkay sighed, leaning his cheek against Temeraire’s snout. “And how is the scoundrel? Last I saw, he was being carted away with his wings pierced through.”

“He will mend as well,” Laurence said. “Come, it is not a long flight to the encampment.”

Ignoring the half-hearted protests Tharkay mumbled, Laurence once again scooped him up and clambered onto Temeraire’s outstretched claw. Temeraire leapt into the air almost before Laurence had managed to secure both himself and Tharkay. The craggy mountain peaks sailed past as the Celestial arrowed back to the camp. Tharkay shuddered and tried to burrow further into his blanket. Laurence couldn’t help a shiver of his own as the chilly breeze cut into him. He wrapped an arm around Tharkay and shifted them about so that Laurence’s back was to the oncoming wind, a buffer for the man cradled against him.

***

The assembled captains blinked at Laurence.

“A month?” Chenery asked, running a hand through his eternally wind-blown hair. “Boney is going to try his hand for Russian in a month?”

Laurence nodded. “A few days more than a month, but yes he means to invade.”

He had emerged only moments before from his tent where Tharkay was bearing the scrutiny of several physicians. Laurence’s hand twitched at the thought; so soon after liberation, Tharkay would no doubt be wary of anyone but a few souls lucky enough to have earned his friendship, and Laurence had little desire to leave him alone for any extended length of time. But the word had to be spread, and actions had to be planned.

Berkley snorted. “He may march as far as he can into the Tsar’s lands, but as soon as old winter comes a knocking, that little Mediterranean bred gull will fly back to warmer climes. They will freeze him out.”

“But how will they hold the land until then?” Harcourt stared down at the map as if willing the marks made there to disappear. “If Bonaparte can see his forces settled and his lines of supply secured, I am afraid not even the icy hell that is a Russian winter will be enough to force him out.”

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask for the aid of those Chinese forces.” Granby sighed.

“But will we be able to get them to Russia soon enough to be of any material use, John? That will be the next mountain to scale.” Laurence closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. He very much wished to be back in his tent with Tharkay. Quiet settled about him; Laurence blinked to find the other captains watching him with half-wary, half-hopeful expressions. “Is something the matter?”

“You called me by my given name.” Granby bleated; the corner of his mouth twitched like it wished to lift into a smile but dared not.

“Oh, ah yes, I am recovered…for the most part. Perhaps it was that second blow to the head.”

Granby laughed weakly. “We should have tried scalping you sooner if this would be the result.”

“Don’t be morbid, John.” Little admonished quietly. “Welcome back, Laurence.”

A chorus of congratulations echoed Little’s statement. Laurence half-raised his hand in thanks.

“Now shall we get back to the present conundrum?”

***

Tharkay’s fever had its own tides. And while it had ebbed long enough for him to relay his news of Napoleon’s invasion, the deep waters had returned with the arrival of night. Laurence had returned from the meeting with the other captains to find his companion soaked in sweat, shuddering and muttering. He had coaxed a bit of wine past Tharkay’s lips and, for lack of a better notion, had dragged a chair over to the bed to sit vigil.

Now Laurence watched as Tharkay twitched in his sleep. His hands were bandaged in splints. The verdict from the doctors had been that recovery was possible, but it relied heavily on the strength of the man. Looking at those stiff, tightly wrapped fingers, Laurence prayed for a strength that could move mountains if only it would help Tharkay’s recovery.

His attention was drawn back to the bed as Tharkay shifted. He opened his eyes to stare blearily at Laurence.

“Will you disappear again?”

The question was softly rasped. Laurence frowned, “I have no intention of doing so at present or any time in the future, frankly.”

“That is what the others would say.” Tharkay mumbled as he shivered violently.

“What others?”

“The other…Wills. Each time one would come to me, promise to stay with me, promise that we would leave. And then they would go, just as the soldiers came in. So many and each time I thought…I hoped…”

Something wrenched inside Laurence’s chest at Tharkay’s words. He slid off his chair and knelt beside the bed, his face mere inches from Tharkay’s. He could feel the warmth of the fever radiating off the other’s skin.

“You are not in that cave anymore, Tenzing.” Laurence made sure to keep his voice firm but quiet. “I took you from those soldiers. I brought you out into the light. Do you remember?”

Tharkay’s brow furrowed. “I…am not sure. That was not a dream?”

“Tell me. Did the other Wills look as abused as I?” He gestured to his bandaged forehead.

“No…” Tharkay still sounded unsure.

Laurence reached out and gently cupped his hand to Tharkay’s cheek. “You are here. I am here. We are both safe. There will be no more soldiers, no more beatings, no more Wills that disappear. I promise you this.”

Tharkay nodded slowly. “I want to be sure.”

“How else can I assure you?”

A thickly wrapped hand slid out from beneath the blankets. Tharkay could not grip, so he pinched a bit of Laurence’s jacket between two splinted fingers and tugged ever so slightly. The gesture was so infinitesimal that Laurence could pretend not to have noticed. Tharkay did not seem to wish to put the request into words; Laurence could ignore it and maintain a safe distance between them. He would not have to risk crossing the divide.

But Granby’s words rose up in his mind, and Laurence found that, in the face of Tharkay’s distress, whether he fell or not, he would leap across that chasm.

He nodded, “Very well then.”

Removing his coat and boots and untucking his shirt barely took a moment. His only instance of hesitance was when he stood before the bed, but Tharkay lifted the covers and beckoned him with pained eyes. Laurence slid beneath the fabric. He had barely settled against the pillows before Tharkay was there, nestling against Laurence’s side.Slowly, Laurence wound his arms around Tharkay’s back, mindful of the bruises he’d seen there. Tharkay made no sound of complaint; he only slid his fingers beneath Laurence’s shirt to press them against the warm skin beneath it.

“There,” Laurence murmured against Tharkay’s hair. “if you were not thoroughly convinced before.”

Tharkay said nothing, intent on nuzzling his face against Laurence’s chest. His skin still too warm. The dim light in the tent did well to hide the worry that Laurence was sure was clear in his expression. He’d come so close, so close and yet might never have known, to losing this man. This man who was nearly always sharp edges and sharper words. This man who had such willowy strength about him. This man who was now brittle in Laurence’s hands, so very fragile.

What it must be costing Tharkay to be unable to hide such vulnerability. Laurence tightened his hold ever so slightly. They had only just evaded a permanent parting, and whatever else awaited them in the weeks or months to come may part them again. But in the warmth of the tent, in a shell made of canvas, they could rest for a moment.

Laurence moved one of his hands from Tharkay’s back to cup his cheek. The other man sighed, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. There was a question in those dark orbs. Heat gently suffused Laurence’s cheeks at their somewhat hazed but steady stare. Granby’s half-drugged advice flitted through his mind. Could he be to Tharkay what, well, what Granby was to Little? Would Tharkay truly want that? Here with Tharkay’s body pressed so assuredly against his, with him looking at Laurence in such a way…Laurence believed he might be.

Still, with Tharkay fevered, now would not be the most suitable time to face that conundrum. But the urge to comfort the injured man burned brightly in Laurence’s chest. Ignoring the part of his mind still full of cold, English propriety, Laurence leaned in and pressed his lips against the damp skin of Tharkay’s forehead; he could just taste the faint salty tang of sweat, smell the sickly sweet stench of a body recovering, but beneath it was that warm, earthy and dry scent that was Tharkay.

Tharkay’s eyes were closed when Laurence pulled back, but a small smile fidgeted at the corner of his mouth. A second kiss was met with a low hum. A third soon followed. Each time Laurence pushed for no more than the softest of touches, strayed no further than Tharkay’s brow, trying to provide a sense of comfort and safety with each lingering brush of lips. By the time Laurence leaned back against the pillows, Tharkay was asleep, his bruised face settled into a peaceful expression, his ear pressed over Laurence’s heart. Laurence felt his own eyes grow heavy as the sounds of the camp faded away.

The pre-dawn bustling of the camp drew Laurence from a dream more of regained memories than any fantasy.He did not linger in that gentle fog of drowsiness, however, as the shifting weight against his chest brought back awareness and the memories of the night before. Tharkay was likewise just waking, his eyes seemed blurred more with exhaustion than fever. Before he could stop himself, Laurence pressed his hand to Tharkay’s forehead, and sighed with relief when he met only slightly warm skin.

Laurence froze, hand still against Tharkay’s brow, as he met the man’s gaze. It was a steady, knowing look. Tharkay remembered. Would he call Laurence out on taking such liberties? But the man did not seem particularly upset. In fact, as Laurence’s hand seemingly of its own accord moved to again cup Tharkay’s cheek, he looked quite pleased with his current position.

Laurence brushed a few strands of hair away from Tharkay eyes and said, “Good morning, Tenzing.”

A soft smile spread across Tharkay’s lips

***

Habits are an odd thing to form. Their birth goes unnoticed, but they grow with surprising rapidity. And before one realizes it, the behavior is far too entrenched to extirpate with ease. Laurence wasn’t aware that his sleeping arrangements with Tharkay had become so normalized until they were preparing to leave Peking. He’d been packing his few belongings away when he’d absentmindedly started to sort through Tharkay’s things as well. It wasn’t until he’d been folding up a spare shirt that he realized that throughout their journey back to the city and their short stay before mustering for Russia, Tharkay had stayed in Laurence’s bed each and every night.

The shirt was then subject to some small amount of abuse as Laurence twisted it about in his grip while his mind rapidly sorted through the past several days. No one had mentioned Tharkay sharing his tent on the return journey; that at least could be explained away with Tharkay’s injuries needing attending and the man being too wary to trust the vigilance to a doctor for any extended period of time. But when they had arrived…Laurence had ordered that Tharkay be placed in his own rooms without a second thought. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have let Tharkay be housed in his own abode; there was space aplenty to spare. But it would have taken time to reach him in the night should something happen, and Laurence had become so used to the man’s warm presence against him. But what had the others thought? No doubt there would be gloating on Granby’s part if he’d noticed, but would the other captains discern exactly what Laurence’s care and concern for Tharkay truly meant? What if—

“You are fretting again,” Tharkay sighed.

The now strained shirt was released from its torture as Laurence turned his attention away. Tharkay was half-propped upon the pillows, hair still mussed from sleep and one eye open to gaze at Laurence.

“I apologize.” Laurence stepped quietly over to him. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“It was not you per se, I just happened to be dozing when my ears recognized the sound of cloth in distress. I would rather not lose what little wardrobe I have. Be at ease, Will, there will be time aplenty to pace about. Save the worry for when we arrive in Russia.”

Laurence bowed slightly. “As usual, you have laid me bare with your words and soothed sore nerves with the rarest of all remedies: common sense.”

Tharkay snorted, and Laurence, still bent towards him and meaning to make the most of his current position, leaned forward and, as he had done every night since Tharkay’s rescue, kissed his forehead.

“Go back to sleep. I promise no more abuse shall befall your belongings.”

A small smile flitted across Tharkay’s lips as he settled further into his pillows. “I have faith in your prowess of packing. If the East India Company hired you, they would never need fear a broken china piece for how securely you would store it away.”

“Something to consider should this career in the Aerial Corps not yield to fruition.” Laurence chuckled, stroking Tharkay’s hair back from his face; the other man was already slipping back into his doze.

He pressed another quick kiss to Tharkay’s brow and stood to stretch. As he turned back to his task, Laurence was again struck by the thought that habits are hard to notice as they grow, but, as he absently ran a thumb over his lower lip remembering the feel of Tharkay’s skin, sometimes when the practice becomes apparent, it need not be stopped.

***

The days were consumed along with the miles they flew. Each sunset saw them a few leagues closer to Russia, and each sunrise saw them bustling about, desperate to somehow outpace time. The Chinese crews knew their work well; they practiced drills while traveling, set up and broke down camp each evening and morning with nary a complaint, and didn’t seem at all intimidated by the distance they needed to cross and the numbers they needed to amass. Their steady presence was a balm to harried nerves.

Not long into the journey, Laurence found himself measuring the time passed not by miles upon a map, but by the growth of Tharkay’s beard. The man’s normally smooth cheeks had been rough with stubble when they had rescued him, and it seemed that Tharkay had no interest, or rather the ability, to trim it. The hair helped to hide the bruises, but it also aidedTharkay in keeping his expressions even more enigmatic. Laurence had pondered whether his own foray into pogonotrophy had such an effect on his countenance.

And, after one evening where Tharkay, and Laurence was quite certain he hadn’t been feverish, had rather determinedly rubbed his cheek against the side of Laurence’s neck, Laurence had speculated on how facial hair might affect other activities.

“You are beginning to look quite wild, Tenzing.” Laurence noted one morning, brushing his thumb against the beard that had been steadily growing for the past several weeks. “If you should prefer it, I could shave it for you.”

“No,” Tharkay mumbled, still somewhat dazed with sleep. “you need not trouble yourself, Will. I will manage it once my hands heal.”

Laurence frowned. “That may be some time yet. If the growth is irritating you, I do not mind in the least with assisting in its removal.”

“It is fine.”

The tone of Tharkay’s words carried a vein of wearied frustration. And Laurence realized that for Tharkay, a man accustomed to always living on a knife’s edge of suspicion, having someone else holding a blade anywhere near his throat would not be the most comfortable of experiences. So Laurence let his assurances die on his tongue. If anyone deserved to be wary of others it was Tharkay, particularly after what he’d been through. His caring for the wanderer wasn’t a conditional thing; if Tharkay needed to keep him at arm’s length for certain reasons Laurence would accept that.

Something of Laurence’s internal debate must have shown on his face because Tharkay sat up.

“Fetch a knife, please,” he said.

Laurence blinked up at him, but Tharkay’s expression was hidden behind its usual placid mask. A quick rummage through his kit produce a small blade. With disbelief no doubt evident on his face, Laurence watched as Tharkay took his hand and guided it, knife and all, towards his throat.

Laurence gently placed the blade against the underside of Tharkay’s jaw. Tharkay remained still, not tense, and he merely gazed up at Laurence. A warm rush of gratitude swept through Laurence as he realized what Tharkay meant in having him do this.

Tharkay quirked an eyebrow. “Do you see?”

“Yes. I…I am honored.” He pulled away, sheathing the razor back in its small pouch.

“This is not about…” The words died away as Tharkay stared down at his bandaged hands. The splints were gone, but his movements were still awkward and slow.

Laurence said nothing, only knelt and covered Tharkay’s hands with his own. Tharkay leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the top of Laurence’s head. Around them the life of the camp clanged and shuffled about, but the tent walls kept it distant, kept Laurence and Tharkay cradled in a small, temporary sanctuary.

***

Red and gold silk shimmered in the firelight. The fabric draped about Tharkay, moving as he did. The way the cloth bunched and then smoothed reminded Laurence of the gentle waves on a calm sea. Tharkay’s hair was pulled back in an intricate topknot, bound in an ornament of silver. His face, now clean shaven and all the more appealing knowing it was done so by Tharkay himself, was set in an expression of distant appraisal. His stance was straight but flowing, each subtle movement emphasized by the silk.

Tharkay was every inch the prince that Laurence would never dream to be, and Laurence could only be pleased at the disparity.

As the other man paced back and force, practicing for what can only be described as the appropriate amount of haughtiness, Laurence couldn’t help smiling at the delight that, try though he might to hide it, seeped through Tharkay’s mask and movements.

“Well, I can see the loan has brought one person some pleasure.”

Laurence looked up as Temeraire’s sides rose in an indignant huff.

“My dear, has this method of subterfuge truly upset you?”

“Oh,” Temeraire glanced at Laurence. “I know it is necessary for Tharkay to wear the robes, and I certainly do not say he looks unbecoming in them, but they are your robes Laurence. They were a gift to you.”

“Ah, if you are worried that I am affronted by the lend, I can assure I am not.” Laurence reached up and rubbed Temeraire snout. The dragon still seemed a touch miffed by the situation, and Laurence, despite his better judgement, found himself adding: “In truth, I must admit that I find Tharkay strikes quite the figure in them. He is very…ah, appealing—or that is to say he…oh, dash it all, I think he looks lovely in them. So I am afraid I cannot muster much displeasure at allowing him to borrow the robes.”

Laurence was sure his cheeks were aglow in the evening air. A quick glance about the camp still showed that everyone else was caught up in staring at the transformation that Tharkay had made of himself, pauper to prince indeed. He turned back to Temeraire to find the dragon studying him.

Temeraire blinked. “Well, Laurence, I did not know that seeing Tharkay thus attired would please you so; of course, he should have robes. Not those, they are yours, but something complimentary perhaps. Yes, a matching set would do nicely.”

The dragon nodded, having gotten hold of the idea, it seemed he’d decided to fly away with it. Laurence felt some dismay at the thought that Tharkay might find himself the subject of Temeraire’s fashion preferences. Though it could be worse; it could be Iskierka’s. At least there would be a little less gold. And Tharkay dressed in silk was…

Laurence shook himself; he needed a clear head. He glanced to where Tharkay stood speaking with Gong Su. He was greeted with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

“Shall we?” Tharkay called.

He turned towards the Russian end of the encampment as the procession filed in around him. Laurence took his place just behind him. He watched as Tharkay squared his shoulders, holding his head high.

***

Tharkay maintained his regal posture throughout the walk back to camp. He did not break character even when Emily grinned at him and hid a snort of laughter behind her hand. Truly, Tharkay was well suited for the role; Laurence would certainly feel an imposter the next time he had to be trussed up in those robes, now that he’d seen how they ought to be worn.

The retinue broke away as they wound their way through the encampment. General Chu nodded once at Tharkay before turning to several waiting counselors. Laurence and Tharkay continued on to Laurence’s tent. Tharkay paused at the entrance, arching his brow in an expectant look. It took some effort not to roll his eyes, but Laurence stepped forward and held open the tent flap. Tharkay swept graciously past. Only when his friend had entered did Laurence allow his gaze to turn heavenward and the corner of his lip to twitch into a long-repressed smile.

The inside of the tent was already awash with the warm glow of a solitary lamp. Tharkay stood in the middle, one hand running contemplatively over the red silk of the sleeve. He looked up at the sound of the canvas snapping shut. A smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth, and then he was laughing. Head tossed back, shoulders shaking, Tharkay laughed with an abandon Laurence had never heard before. The sound coaxed a response from him as well. Laurence could feel it bubbling up in his chest, and soon he too was chuckling uproariously.

It was more relief than anything. The rush from China, the frustrating labyrinth that was the Russian army’s bureaucracy and distrust, the fear that the Chinese legions would not muster in time, it all melted away like snow on sun-warmed stone. Laurence let the moment last, let himself be buoyed by this temporary ease, all the more precious for its impermanency.

“Does His Majesty require anything else for this evening?” Laurence asked between snorts. “An encore, perhaps?”

Tharkay shook his head, still smiling. “A sketch of those generals’ expressions perhaps. Or the chance to borrow these robes again. You may mope about putting them on, Will, but quite frankly these are the most luxurious clothes I have ever worn. Quite comfortable too.”

“Ha, be wary of your wishes, Tenzing.Temeraire already has plans to doll you up in silks and satins. I am afraid you left too good an impression.”

Tharkay tilted his head, his expression contemplative. “And what of your wishes, Will? Perhaps I may assist in their fruition. I am, after all, a prince. At least for this evening.”

“I doubt your powers have such extension.” Laurence sighed though his smile remained, the cold reality of the outside world had yet to slip into their tent. “Unless an imperial prince can will away this war, I am afraid my wishes are beyond your abilities to grant.”

“Something simpler, then. A wish that need not require that I leave this tent.”

It seemed that Laurence had barely blinked and Tharkay was before him, eyes mischievous and considering. Slowly, as if Laurence were a feral creature, Tharkay raised his hands in what Laurence thought was a gesture of surrender, but in another second, they were placed upon his shoulders, a pressure that was both grounding yet infinitesimal. Laurence needed that weight as the realization that they were both alone in the tent, and Tharkay was well enough that…well, that whatever might happen he would be either an accomplice or an inhibitor. The choice was now in his healed hands.

Laurence cleared his throat. When had the air become so dry? “I ah…have very few simple entreaties that I could make.”

Tharkay leaned against him, his warmth seeping through the robes. Laurence ached to reach out and run his hands over the slippery silk, feel the sturdiness of the muscle that lay beneath, but he kept his hands clenched firmly at his sides. His own uniform felt irritating and ungainly. A shudder ran up Laurence’s spine at the thought of nothing between him and Tharkay except smooth silk. Tharkay chuckled; as close as he was the sound was more a soft breeze, brushing against Laurence’s cheek and ear and making him shiver all the more. Heat pulled in his gut, and Laurence realized that if Tharkay pressed more thoroughly against him, the man would know exactly how suitable those robes were for him.

“So what request would you put before your prince then?” Tharkay asked, his voice light.

If a significant amount of blood hadn’t been diverted from higher reasoning, Laurence might have caught the mischief in his companion’s tone. As it was, he counted himself grateful that his mind was even capable of flailing about for an answer. The poor, blood-starved organ could only toss up images of the many nights during their travel to Russia; the soft caresses that had been given for comfort and assurance might now be returned in kind and exuberantly.

As if plucking the thought from behind Laurence’s eyes, Tharkay hummed, his hands rubbing over Laurence’s shoulders then up his neck to cradle his face.Calloused fingers brushed against his cheeks and a thumb traced his lower lip. Laurence closed his eyes, trusting in Tharkay’s hold. He leaned forward just so, but he would give Tharkay the final choice. Laurence felt the displacement of air as Tharkay moved, felt a brief puff of breath. Lips pressed against his brow once, twice, then a third time. Laurence opened his eyes to see Tharkay smiling at him.

“That is all I shall risk, for now.”

Laurence couldn’t help a small frown as Tharkay leaned away. His body was still rigid, like a man ready to jump over the side of a ship. Only in his case he’d stopped short of jumping when he realized there was not the ocean beneath him but a small pond.

“You are rather cruel, Tenzing,” he huffed. And was chastised by Tharkay chaffing his cheeks with roughened hands.

Tharkay only smirked. “I believe certain members of the Russian army are expecting your presence very soon. You will need time to…gather yourself.”

Laurence flushed then scowled as he realized how much gathering he would need in order to change his present state. “Cruel.”

***

The ragged coat had a hole at the elbow and was half a size too small about the shoulders. Laurence tugged at the fabric in a futile attempt to get it to settle more comfortably. He glanced at the cart they were meant to pull into Moscow; the meagre supply of grain was meant to be their pass into the city, as flimsy a safe conduct as it appeared. Beside him, Tharkay was winding a scarf about his face.

He hadn’t meant to stare, but Laurence could not help ruminating about the profound alterations a simple change in attire can make. Tharkay was back in his role of wanderer and his clothes fit the part, even more worn and frayed in appearance than usual. The look suited him, or, rather, he suited the look. Laurence thought that while the softer silk might have been what nature had intended for Tharkay, life and its hardships had shaped him to fit the rough wool and leather he wore now. A sigh escaped from between Laurence’s lips at that rather morose thought.

“Troubles?” Tharkay asked. “Beyond the ones we are facing at present.”

“No, I merely miss you in silks.”

The words hung in the air like the steam from his breath, and Laurence wished, as heat rushed up his neck, he could simply inhale them back into his lungs. He stared resolutely at the ground. How the hell had those words gotten out? Was it exhaustion? The stress of the campaign? Had he taken another blow to the head? Christ, he had just spoken them as if he were remarking on the change in weather.

“Unfortunately, the fabric is not practical for our current needs.”

Tharkay was smiling that lopsided grin; it seemed to sit rather smugly on his face in fact, when Laurence tore his gaze from the dirt.

“I, ah…” Laurence swallowed. Whatever lessons in elocution that had managed to slip into his head in his youth had taken flight to more verdant fields. He hoped he would gain some resistance to the man, otherwise he’d be reduced to a simpleton with a single look from Tharkay. And quite frankly, Laurence needed what mind he had left to focus on the task of seeing them all safely through this campaign. He was not some untried youth with little control, damn it all!

“But should we live to see summer again perhaps…” Tharkay trailed away, his smile becoming rather evil in Laurence’s opinion.

“Perhaps?” Laurence’s voice somehow managed to crack on that single word.

Tharkay shrugged. “Who can guess at what shall come? We had best be starting the trek into Moscow. Are you ready?”

No, Laurence was most assuredly not ready. One word and what frayed tether he had managed to keep his imagination contained with snapped entirely. Oh, what possibilities resided in “perhaps”. Damn the man. Damn Laurence himself. If he had acted sooner. If he had not kept a distance until now. Tharkay might not be nearly so diverting.

“Let us be off, then.”

***

In the matter of size, the feral was no larger than a Yellow Reaper, but the creature didn’t have nearly the same weight. It hides hung loose in a way that scales ought not be able to, and ribs were like mountain ridges rising beneath the dull skin. The creature’s head looked rather like someone had taken a dragon’s skull and simply covered it with a paper-thin gauze without a thought to adding flesh beneath. Its eyes sat large and mad in sockets that were far too prominent. Those eyes caught Laurence’s gaze, and he could see the bottomless hunger that resided there. Mercy or reasoning would have no use, both had been swallowed up by starvation.

It shouldn’t have been there, not so close to their encampment as it was, not so near to Temeraire’s presence. Granted, they shouldn’t have been there either. But when Emily and Farris had called Laurence and Tharkay out to look at a set of tracks they had only been a few dozen yards from the safety of the campsite. Tharkay had had barely time to glance at the large claw marks set in the dusting of snow when the dragon had come almost tumbling down from the sky. The ragged beast seemed almost as stunned to see them as they were to see it.

There was but a moment, the length of a snowflake’s life as it meets warm skin, where they stood staring at the dragon and the dragon at them. Then with a growl that sounded more like a groan of pain, the creature lunged at them. Laurence threw himself sideways, and the world became a brief whirl of white as he rolled through the snow and back onto his feet. Emily was not far from him; Tharkay and Farris were several yards away on the opposite side of the dragon.

A half-breath later and Laurence was on his feet again. He scrambled back to where Emily was struggling upright, grabbing a handful of her coat and all but tossing up into a standing position. The reason for her hindered movements became clear as soon as she managed to pull her pistol from her belt. Laurence was only spared a brief moment to admire her quickness to draw before she was firing on the feral. Blood sprayed where wing met shoulder, and the dragon flinched back from where it had been stalking towards Tharkay and Ferris. Laurence kept in front of Emily as she reloaded, his blade a poor barrier to the hungry thing before them.

And then, with the weight and fury of a falling comet, Temeraire swooped down upon them. He did not pause to hover and swipe; he simply barreled into the feral. The force of Temeraire’s lunge left a deep groove in the snow as his momentum sent both dragons skidding across the ground. They had gone several yards before the pair finally stopped. Temeraire wasted no time; he bit down on the stunned feral’s neck, just behind its head, and twisted. A crack that seemed too soft echoed for a moment. The starved dragon went limp in Temeraire’s hold.

With surprising gentleness, Temeraire set the feral down. The only sounds about them were their own breaths, and the snowing evening seemed eager to swallow them up.

“Temeraire,” Laurence called, his words steaming the air. “are you injured?”

“No, I am well. Did the dragon injure anyone?”

Laurence walked up to him and laid a hand on his foreleg. “Only a few bruises, my dear. I am sorry you had to kill the feral.”

He remembered how disturbed Temeraire had been when he’d had to slaughter a sea serpent year ago. And these poor, starved and beaten creatures would surely elicit even more sympathy. But to his surprise, the Celestial only shook his head tiredly.

“I wish we were gone from this place,” he said, voice quiet.

Laurence silently agreed and damned Murat, Napoleon and the Russian military all in one breath.

***

Laurence blinked up at the swollen afternoon clouds; there would be more snow soon. He turned back to his supply list. The crew were going to need thicker gear, Lord knew where they would get it, for the oncoming winter. The muffled conversations of the camp wound their way to where Laurence had stalked off some distance away through the woods, knowing he might well be risking another feral run-in but too frustrated to pay much heed.

“Will.”

And the last of the General Chu’s reinforcements would be returning to China.

“Will.”

Laurence sighed, refusing to look up from the list. “Yes, I heard you.”

“I do not wish to be parted—”

“But you are leaving all the same.” He hadn’t meant the words to come out harshly, but it seemed he couldn’t quite keep the snap out of them. “Back to Istanbul, again.”

“I must go where I will be of the most use,” Tharkay reasoned, though his voice, lacking its usual placid tone, sounded strained and unhappy.

Laurence understood this. There was no more need for Tharkay to put on the airs of a prince, and he knew the landscape no better than Laurence. Truthfully, a part of Laurence was glad that Tharkay would be away from the soon to be snow bound land with its ravenous ferals that made no distinction between man and meat. But that part had but a small voice. The rest of Laurence was shouting a cacophony of protests.

“I…I understand this,” Laurence sighed as logic and reason argued with emotion. “But know I cannot take much comfort in that. It is foolish of me to wish you to stay when your safety would be better assured if you were as far from this place as possible.” He looked up at Tharkay. “But I am a foolish man. At least, some of the time.”

“I will come back,” Tharkay kept his gaze locked on Laurence. “You can be quite the fool, Will. But I would be the biggest fool of them all if I were to make our parting a permanent thing.”

Laurence took a step towards him. “Forgive me, but I cannot seem to quell the fear that it might be. We have only just missed destruction a few too many times for me to believe that our luck, thin as it is, will last forever on that front.”

“You are being too morose; this war will end eventually, and when that time comes you and Temeraire will have to fly far and fast to be rid of me.”

“Is that one of your divinations? It sounds a tad too fantastic to believe.”

Tharkay glared challengingly at him. “I ask that you place a little more weight on my words.”

Quick as a flash, his hands were cupping Laurence’s face in a firm but gentle grip. Laurence had but a moment to inhale and then Tharkay’s lips were upon his. This gesture was not like the feathery, barely there kisses they’d exchanged over the course of their journey. This was a raw, almost punitive act. Laurence’s arms wrapped round Tharkay’s body as he angled his head, welcoming Tharkay’s tongue as it slipped inside his mouth, just as eager yet more gentle. A shudder ran up Laurence’s spine and he grasped Tharkay tighter, straining the man to his body as if holding him fast could halt the damnable war and every other element from pulling them apart.

Reluctant as he was to pause, the ache in Laurence’s lungs reminded him that breathing was a necessary evil. He leaned back, gasping, but Tharkay followed the motion. He took Laurence’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. Laurence had to brace himself as he felt his knees threaten to buckle. Tharkay released the abused flesh, licking softly where his teeth had sunk in. Laurence’s lip throbbed, but he welcomed another deep kiss as Tharkay finished his ministrations.

“There,” Tharkay gasped when they finally broke apart, or as far apart as Laurence’s embrace would allow. He ran a thumb over Laurence’s lip, pleased. “Let that be both a lesson and a promise. When I say I shall return to you, know that I mean it most ardently.”

“I am properly chastised.” Laurence murmured once he’d been able to string more than two syllables together. He pressed for another quick kiss, lip aching.Tharkay met him, the kiss kinder than the first but far more urgent. Something cool and white caught in Laurence’s lashes; the snow was beginning to fall again. But for now, in that sweet, brief instant, the cold could not touch them. Laurence prayed that the warmth would stay with him through the long, bleak winter ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter and an epilogue to go! I can do this!   
> I know my updates are becoming slower than the pace of a narcoleptic snail but they will happen!   
> Thanks again for all the patience and support.   
> As always, feedback is very much appreciated.


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